Wild At Heart

by Susan Fox

  She’d lived her whole life under the scrutiny of a community that had more bad expectations of her than good. Because she didn’t want to bring scorn on Sam’s faith in her, there was no way she could appear before these people and be anything short of perfectly groomed, perfectly behaved. And if she couldn’t…

  “Go on ahead, Kane,” she called softly. “I’ll be along later.”

  His low, “What?” was terse.

  “I can drive myself,” she offered in a more confident voice, then gasped and jumped back when her door swung sharply inward.

  “We go together,” he growled.

  “But I’m not ready—my hair,” she said, feeling again the precariousness of her control.

  The sudden realization that Kane’s blue gaze was sliding slowly over the curves accentuated by her black slip made her breath catch. Flustered, she let her hair swing loose and she turned from him. The door closed behind her with a quiet click. She glanced back, relieved until she saw that Kane hadn’t gone.

  “Just run a brush through it,” he told her, then nodded toward the dress on the bed. “That what you’re wearing?” He walked over and picked up the dress in one large hand, then turned back to her and held it out.

  The sheer forcefulness of the gesture underscored his determination to rush her. It was also a signal to her that the perfect appearance, perfect behavior she was worried sick over meant nothing to him. As she meant nothing to him.

  She turned from him suddenly, then hurried to the mirror over her vanity table. A few quick strokes of the brush and her hair was again tidy enough to put up. She managed to gather it and twist it over and over until she’d wound it into a thick knot.

  With fingers that had somehow lost their dexterity, she tried to shove enough hairpins into place to hold the knot just so. Seconds after she’d finished, it all began to unravel.

  “Go on without me,” she snapped, so frustrated that she began tearing at the hairpins.

  Kane’s abrupt move—which sent her dress sailing back onto the bed—drew her attention to his reflection in the vanity mirror. He stalked toward her, then to her complete surprise, he reached past her and grabbed up the brush.

  The moment he gathered her hair in his big hand, she felt prickles of sensation strike her scalp like tiny lightning bolts. She tensed, expecting him to yank the brush through the dark tresses as mercilessly as she had earlier, but the brush strokes that began near the ends of her hair were brisk, gentle. As he worked his way up the length to the top of her head, he efficiently banished the tangles, until he was merely brushing her hair, running the brush from the crown of her head to the blunt-cut ends.

  Rio stood, nearly paralyzed by surge after surge of pleasure as Kane wielded the brush. Her eyes were riveted to his reflection in the mirror, fascinated by the absorption on his harsh, handsome face.

  Everything slowed in those quiet moments. The whisper of the brush marked the time that passed. At last his gaze lifted and met hers in the mirror. The brush made one last pass that was slower than the rest before it reached the end of its path and fell away.

  “What’s wrong with wearing it loose?” he asked, his voice a quiet rasp.

  His question dispelled the peculiar lethargy that had gripped her. The answer brought a swift sting of tears. “Because I need to look conservative,” she managed to tell him.

  Kane’s lips quirked with disbelief. “Conservative? What the hell for?”

  She could barely get out the words. “For Sam.” Honesty made her add, “And because someone might disapprove.”

  “Of what? Wearing your hair down?” He looked incredulous.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she said quietly as she broke eye contact with his reflection. She turned toward him to take her brush.

  “Try me.” The terse words were a demand. When he didn’t release the brush, she glanced up at him momentarily, then away.

  “Please, Kane,” she whispered, but her small tug on the brush only made him tighten his grip. She took in an uneven breath. “You know how people feel about me.”

  “How’s that?”

  Rio felt such a surge of hurt that she almost couldn’t get the words out. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” She made herself look at him as she said, “No one’s more critical of me than you—unless it’s Ramona.”

  Kane’s expression went stiff. Rio tried again to take her brush, but Kane glanced past her, saw her handbag on the vanity top and reached for it. Just that quickly, he’d shoved the brush into the purse, hesitated, then pinched a wad of tissues from the nearby dispenser and crammed them in, too. His, “Get the dress on,” was low and angry as he fumbled with the zipper and flap on the purse.

  Rio stared at his harsh profile as a fresh tide of sadness rose in her heart. Wordlessly, she walked to the bed, picked up the dress, then tugged it over her head and smoothed it down.

  Remorse stole over her. Kane’s father had died, and she was more worried over how she wore her hair than being ready for the funeral on time. She got out a quiet, “I’m sorry, Kane. I don’t mean to cause problems,” as she pulled her hair forward, then reached behind her back and tried to slide the zipper up.

  To her surprise, Kane’s fingers brushed hers aside. He slid the zipper up in no time, and Rio pushed her hair back over her shoulder to let it stream down her back.

  The next thing she knew, Kane stepped so close to her that she felt the heat that radiated from his tall, strong body. Her breath stopped as his hands slid around her waist to pull her back against him. Her soft sound of surprise and her self-conscious move to step away made him tighten his arms and lower his head to press his jaw against her cheek.

  The heat that scorched through their clothes enveloped her in weakness. She could feel every detail of his unyielding maleness, and something deep and primitive and female in her stirred.

  She rested her hands hesitantly on the thickmuscled forearms that were cinched around her. Kane rubbed his jaw against her soft skin, and drew her even closer to him.

  Oh, God, it was heaven to stand there like that! Heaven to feel his arms around her, his body against hers, heaven to feel the physical comfort he was lavishing on her, whether he knew it or not. Whether he meant to or not.

  The sharp edge of feminine arousal that followed shocked her. She couldn’t help that she’d raised her hand to gently place her palm along his strong jaw. The freshly shaved skin was softer than she’d expected and she couldn’t resist exploring the smooth texture with her fingertips.

  Suddenly she felt ashamed of herself, ashamed to be standing there with Kane, practically trembling with longing and desire. They were burying Sam today. She had no business feeling anything but grief. Misery came roaring back, worse than ever.

  She slid her hand from Kane’s jaw, then turned abruptly, stepping neatly out of his arms before she stopped, her face turned slightly away from him. She reached for the handbag Kane had tossed to the bed, rummaged nervously for the brush, then ran it briskly through her hair to smooth it a last time.

  When she finished, the room was utterly still. She didn’t need to see or hear him to know that Kane was there, silently watching her, because she felt his long, unhurried scrutiny as if he were running his hands over her.

  “You’re beautiful.” The rasped words were an accusation, but his next ones softened it. “Anyone who can criticize the way you look, especially right now, can go straight to hell.”

  His gruff fervency brought such a sharp sting of tears that a couple spurted down her cheek before she could control them. She dashed them away with her hand, striving to make the gesture look as natural as possible. She couldn’t look at him and her soft, “Thanks,” was choked. She put the brush away and closed her purse. “I’m ready.”

  The small declaration was a lie. She wasn’t ready for this final goodbye to Sam, but admitted to herself that she might never be. As she started toward the door, her legs seemed to grow more heavy with each step.

  She and Kan
e left her room and went downstairs without speaking. At a quick word from Kane, Rio waited in the front hall near the door while he stepped into the living room to let Ramona and Tracy know they were ready to leave.

  She heard Ramona say something then abruptly cut herself off. Rio pretended not to notice that the older woman was flushed with temper when they all joined her. Kane opened the door, ushering Tracy and Ramona through it before he held his hand out to Rio.

  Assuming he was hurrying her along, Rio stepped past him and followed the other two women. Kane caught her arm, then tugged her to a halt while he closed the door behind them. His hand was wrapped around hers as they walked to the waiting limousine. No one was more surprised than Rio when Kane sat next to her, his strong arm on the seat behind her shoulders in a gesture as possessive as it was protective.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE funeral took place in the country church Sam had faithfully attended since childhood. The graveside service was held at the Painted Fence just before noon.

  Rio was grateful for Kane’s constant presence at her side. At first, she’d felt wooden with him, unaccustomed to being touched by him—by anyone—in public. The fact that every eye strayed their way often enough to catch Kane touch her arm or take her hand only compounded her unease. But once the funeral started, the battle to keep her emotions under severe control made her forget everything but getting through the somber service.

  The eulogy made her cry, ruining her intention to remain dry-eyed. The service came to a close at last, with the mourners filing quietly out while family remained seated.

  When it was time for the four of them to go out to the limousine that would follow the hearse to Langtry and the gravesite, Kane again took her arm, allowing Ramona and Tracy to precede them.

  None of them spoke during the ride to the ranch. Ramona sat as still and perfect as cool porcelain, while Tracy tried to powder the redness from around her eyes. Kane sat between Rio and the door, his arm again resting over the back of the seat behind her.

  When they turned off the highway onto the ranch road, then finally onto the much rougher twin tracks that led to the private graveyard, Rio’s heart grew heavier than ever. The royal blue awning pitched over the open grave was colorful enough to hurt the eyes in the bright sun. Rio couldn’t look as the hearse came to a halt and the pallbearers removed the casket to carry it to the grave.

  Kane handed Rio out of the car. He hung back to assist Tracy, then Ramona who had spurned the funeral director’s effort to help her out the other side. Ramona latched onto Kane’s arm, discreetly snapped her fingers in a silent order for Tracy to take his other arm, then stepped forward regally, sweeping them past Rio and leaving her to follow alone. Clearly, Kane had become the prize in the war Ramona seemed intent upon waging.

  The huge chain of cars and pickups that had followed in the funeral procession across Langtry range were pulling up. The long line of vehicles broke gradually, parking in shorter rows around the fenced cemetery so no one would have to walk far. Rio followed the other three, surprised when, before Kane had taken another half dozen steps, he had tactfully disengaged himself from both Ramona and Tracy.

  Rio could see Ramona fairly vibrate with outrage as Kane gently pressed her and Tracy forward while he hung back. Tracy meekly touched her mother’s arm only to find her shy touch thrown off as Ramona marched on indignantly. Kane turned toward Rio and waited until she caught up to him.

  Rio couldn’t meet Kane’s eyes as she joined him and they walked together toward the cemetery. She couldn’t let him see that for one bright exhilarating moment on that dark, sad day, that her foolish heart was thrilled by his attention, and almost giddy with speculation about what it all meant.

  Those few seconds of brightness dulled as they walked through the open gate toward the blue awning. Ramona and Tracy had already been seated across from the casket. Funeral attendants were still racing back and forth bringing more flowers, though most of them were already being sent to nursing homes and hospitals in the area. The minister was taking his place next to the casket, leafing through his prayer book.

  The Langtry ranch hands had shown up, most in their best finery. Boz was one who stood just outside the whitewashed fence near the head of the casket and Rio walked over to grip the old cowboy’s hand. The men next to Boz nodded to her in deference or took her hand for a brief handshake. Kane had followed Rio and was himself shaking hands and receiving quiet words of condolence.

  When they finished, Kane escorted her back to the row of chairs across from the casket. He seated her next to Tracy, then ignored the chair set out for him as he stood behind the two of them.

  The graveside service was brief. The procession of mourners who filed past them to shake hands or express condolences seemed endless in the noontime heat. In the end, it was the heat that prompted Kane to interrupt the procession early and suggest that they all head to the house where it was cool and lunch would be served.

  It was a relief to be able to retreat to the limousine that had been left idling with the air conditioner running. The moment the door was closed behind them and the tinted glass obscured the inside of the limo, Ramona’s lovely face turned petulant. Not a hint of tears marred her perfectly made-up features, though Rio noted the woman had a lace hankie at the ready.

  With a selfish lack of concern for Kane’s grief, Ramona turned toward him, a militant expression on her face. “Why on earth is Sam being buried next to that—that Cory woman?” After all these years, the shock of hearing anyone refer to her late mother as “that Cory woman” jarred her. A brief flash of memory—the tall dark-haired woman with the musical voice and the gentle touch—burst through her grief for Sam, compounding it somehow and bringing a fresh rush of tears.

  The second shock Rio suffered was when she realized that Sam was indeed about to be buried next to her mother. She glanced toward the cemetery in a fog of disbelief as she belatedly acknowledged that she’d been so intent on the service that she’d failed to notice how close Sam’s grave was to her mother’s. Their graves couldn’t have been much closer, particularly in that part of the cemetery where the only graves would be theirs.

  “My God, Kane,” Ramona was saying, her voice trembling, “you’ve got to tell them to dig a new grave—away from there!”

  “My father’s instructions were precise.” Kane’s harsh tone was final.

  Rio glanced toward Kane, unable to conceal her surprise. Sam had instructed Kane to bury him that close to her mother? The fact that Sam had wanted it done and that Kane had done it—in the face of his dislike for the Cory’s and the speculation and gossip such a thing was sure to cause—astonished her.

  “I don’t understand…” The words were barely out of her mouth before Kane’s eyes shifted and bore down sharply into hers. The impact of his glittering blue gaze silenced her and Rio faced forward, her mind spinning as she searched her memories of her mother—and her memories of Sam—for something that would explain Sam’s stunning order.

  Rio had known Sam to at times become strangely gruff when they’d talked about Lenore Cory. She’d always suspected he’d had some special feelings for her mother, but to leave instructions that he be buried next to her indicated something much more significant than casual admiration.

  The whole idea made her feel strange, as if there was some enormous secret that she’d been too dullwitted to sense. As the limo pulled forward slowly and rolled into a wide turn that would take it back down the twin tracks, Rio glanced toward the blue awning. Again she saw the close proximity of the two graves and felt another little start of surprise.

  Fortunately, Ramona said no more, though the silence from her end of the long seat was turbulent. The tension between the four of them was so pronounced that Rio couldn’t wait to arrive back at the ranch house. Once there, Kane got out of the limo and turned to hold the door for her. Rio got out hastily and walked quickly to the ranch house.

  There had to be two hundred people in the house and on t
he patio behind, with more people walking from parked cars. Kane had hired caterers to provide a buffet, and they had set up in the formal dining room. A double line of guests was filing through the dining room, then exiting toward the patio or one of the other rooms on the main floor.

  To Rio, it was a nightmare. People were everywhere. The strain of the day was telling on her, making her feel light-headed. She’d lost track of where Kane was, and made her way through the front hall, finding herself waylaid several times by ranching neighbors and business associates of Sam’s and Kane’s.

  Suddenly, Ty Cameron, the rancher who’d sold Kane the bull, stepped into her path. Tall and handsome, his blond hair a bright mix of bronze and wheat and white from the sun, Ty was ruggedly handsome and was what Rio thought of as cowboy gallant.

  “Hello, Miz Rio,” he said, his deep drawl somber. “I’m real sorry about Sam. I know the two of you were close.”

  Rio managed a tight smile and nodded her thanks.

  “I was about to find myself something cool to drink. Can I get you something?” Ty gently took her arm and tugged her a little more out of the current of passing guests before he released her.

  “I—I was thinking of that myself,” she managed, a faint hint of color seeping into her cheeks. Ty’s eyes were a warm, gold-flecked blue, and the intensity in them as they roamed her face made Rio feel self-conscious. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled down at her.

  “If you’ll allow me, Miz Rio,” he said, his voice charmingly formal, “I’d like to escort you someplace where you can sit down awhile. I can get whatever you want to drink on ice and bring it to you quick.”

  Rio glanced away momentarily, and felt the color in her cheeks rise higher. “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Cameron, but you must be hungry. Why don’t we get something in the dining room?”