by Eileen Wilks
Hannah came sailing out of the church right at twelve-thirty. She'd caught some of her hair up in a twisty thing on top of her head and let the rest of it free-fall down her back in a crazy rush of red curls. The wind plucked at those curls, fingering them around the way Nate wanted to do. She walked towards his truck quickly, her little black purse slung over her shoulder, her hands jammed in the pockets of the bulky parka she wore over her green dress.
Ah, that dress. It should have been as prim as a Puritan's outfit, but Hannah, who was so good at so many things, wasn't very good at prim. Besides, she'd left the last few buttons of the dress undone, giving him glimpses of her legs as she headed for the truck. He looked at her wild hair and the teasing flashes of her legs and thought about running his hand up under that skirt, right up along her warm thighs to the even warmer place between them, and he got hard as fast as a teenager making out at the drive-in.
Then he looked at the stony expression on her face. The heat in his blood collided with the rejection he saw coming toward him with those long, quick strides.
Everyone had done a fine job of filling Hannah in, all right. Nate could see he wouldn't be going anywhere with her today. Not today, and probably not ever. Damn, he thought, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Damn, damn, damn…
She opened the door and swung up inside, giving him another teasing glimpse of pale legs. Then she slammed the door, sat down with her purse in her lap and demanded, "Did you do that on purpose?"
"What?" He glanced at her. "Fasten your seat belt."
"All that noble talk of yours about me making up my mind about riding after I heard what people said about you. You must have known what kind of garbage I would hear. Dammit, I have to go riding with you now."
"You'll go with me?"
"I said I would, didn't I?" Scowling, she drew the seat belt across and fastened it.
The surge of lust he felt startled him. It was too intense. He could handle that, though. He knew his body, knew its needs and its limits and how to ignore both when he had to. But when he drew a breath, it was shaky. That was bad. "I could answer you better if I had some idea what you're talking about."
"You must have known how I'd react. I don't listen to gossip. I told you that. But it was hard to keep some of those people from gossiping. As if Mark could threaten my virtue when he can't even sit up in bed without help! And as for what they said about you—" She broke off.
After everything Jenny had told their friends and neighbors that he'd done, he wasn't surprised that people had tried to warn her about him. His voice carefully neutral, he asked, "Did they tell you I used to beat my wife?"
She darted him a quick look. "Not in so many words. They hinted around at it."
They'd nearly reached the edge of town, and traffic was thin. He forced himself to keep within the speed limit, when what he wanted to do was stamp down on the accelerator. He never felt like he could draw a full, free breath in Bitter Creek.
"Well?" She sounded irritated, and she was frowning heavily. But her fingers were nervous, fiddling with the strap of her purse. "Aren't you going to say anything about—about what they said?"
"No." He'd tried telling his side in the past. People who had known him over twenty years hadn't believed him—with some exceptions, like Earl. The woman beside him had only known him a week. Why should she take his word for anything? "But you are going riding with me."
She sighed. "You are an exasperating man."
They'd reached the edge of town. The speed limit sign on their right sat five feet from the parking lot of the Lucky Chance Bar. As they passed it, Nate pushed down on the accelerator and didn't look at the small, cinder-block building that held too much of his past. He told himself to stop pushing her. She had said she would ride with him, and that was what he wanted—time alone with her. Time to seduce her.
But he couldn't drop it. For some ungodly reason, he had to know. "So why are you going riding with me?"
"What else could I do? If you'd heard what they said—"
"I probably have, at one time or another."
"They told me not to have anything to do with you. Can you believe it? One woman actually said that if I stayed out at the ranch with you and Mark after I'd been warned, they would 'know what to think.' As if I would be the one responsible if you attacked me!" She glared at the highway and crossed her arms. "So, of course, I told them."
"Told them what?"
"That I was going riding with you this afternoon. I was pleasant about it. I said that unfortunately I'd already agreed to go before they warned me. And I assured them that if you did rape me or anything interesting like that, I'd be sure to call and tell them all about it so they wouldn't miss any of the details."
An odd little wisp of a feeling tickled at the back of his mind. "You told them that? In church?"
"I was nice," she insisted. "Well—almost nice. I tried to be nice. So you see, I do have to go riding with you. I said I would."
That odd feeling grew stronger, welling up from some forgotten cavern just left of his soul and far below any conscious thought. He felt himself grinning.
"You said that in church," he repeated. He could taste the strange feeling at the back of his mouth now. It tasted like Hannah had when he kissed her as she lay on the kitchen floor.
"Yes, so now I have to do it. I mean, you should always do what you say you will, but if you say it in church, then you really have to."
The feeling rolled right up and out, and he laughed. It sounded rusty.
Hannah stared straight ahead, looking mortified. "It isn't funny. I just couldn't think of anything else to say."
"No?" His laughter wound down to a chuckle. He didn't know what to say, either. So he touched her. Just once, along her cheek—such a soft, pale cheek. Did her breath catch? He prolonged the touch by tucking a long wisp of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Hannah." He pulled his hand back. "I'm looking forward to riding with you."
She glanced at him suspiciously. "It's nothing personal. We don't have a social relationship," she reminded him.
"I know."
"And this ride we're going on is definitely not a date."
"Absolutely not." He reached across the seat and took her hand. Quietly, he started drawing circles in the center of her palm with his forefinger.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. "You shouldn't do that."
But she didn't pull her hand away, and he wasn't about to let go. "What else did they tell you?" Nate intended to have her, but she had to know the truth first. He wanted her to know who was touching her. Taking her. And he didn't want her changing her mind about him afterward, which she might do if she didn't know the truth before coming to his bed.
She was silent. He glanced at her. Her teeth were worrying her lower lip. "Well?"
"One of them said that—that I look like her niece," she said reluctantly. "Like … your ex-wife."
He released the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. "In some ways."
"She had red hair."
"It's more blond than red, and straight."
"Her figure is like mine."
"You're taller." And a little bigger elsewhere, he thought, remembering the feel of her breast in his hand.
"That's why you didn't like my looks when we first met, though. Because I look like her. Even our faces are alike, from what her aunt said."
"At first glance, maybe. But the resemblance is superficial." As he spoke, he realized it was true. When he looked at Hannah now, he just saw her, not a more vivid version of Jenny. "You're not like her."
"They said she lives in California now, with her mother."
"Thank God."
"It wasn't a friendly divorce?"
She definitely hadn't heard the story. "No."
"It was kind of weird. No one called her by name. They asked Ona how her poor niece was doing out in California, and the way Ona talked about her, it was as if she were talking about a sweet, delicate child."
For a long time, though, she didn't say anything at all. Her hand was warm and strong in his, her fingers slightly callused. She sat quietly holding his hand until they reached the turnoff that led to his house. Then, with a sigh, she pulled her hand back. "So what is her name?"
"Jenny," he said. "Her name is Jenny." He made the turn. His muscles had tensed up. His jaw was tight, and he realized he wanted to shake the woman sitting beside him. He wasn't sure why, but he really wanted to shake her. "For God's sake, Hannah, is that all you're going to ask me?"
"I think so," she said thoughtfully. "Yes, that's all for now."
"I was convicted of murder. Don't you want to know what happened?"
"But it wasn't murder. It was an accident." She looked at the purse in her lap. "I suppose if there's anything else you need to tell me, you will. Sooner or later."
It couldn't be that simple. She couldn't just believe him, just like that. "Your curiosity isn't going to drive you crazy?"
"Well, yes. It probably will. But what happened is really none of my business, since we don't have a personal—I mean a social relationship. Just boss and employee."
"Oh, yeah," he said dryly. "That's right. I forgot."
She nodded. "It's best this way. But if you decide you want to tell me something, that's okay."
He would have to, he knew. Since he couldn't have her until she knew at least the bare facts, he would have to tell her. But it would have been easier if she'd let the gossips fill her in, because Nate never talked about that night. Talking about it was too close to … hoping. He knew better than to hope people would take him at his word.
He didn't want to see trust replaced by horror or disgust when Hannah looked at him. He didn't want to reach out to touch her and have her back away—or brace herself, as if his touch were something to be endured. God. The thought was almost enough to make him change his mind. If he'd wanted Hannah a little less, he would have abandoned his plans right then.
Maybe she had sensed that, and was using her own ignorance to keep him at a distance.
It wasn't going to work.
* * *
It would work out fine, Hannah assured herself as she zipped her jeans up. Going horseback riding with her boss was probably not the smartest thing she could do, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew very well that Nate had something in mind other than letting her get her riding muscles back in shape. She could handle that. She just wouldn't get off the horse. What could he do when she was on horseback? Not much. Not enough to undermine her good sense.
Not unless she was wrong about him, and the people who'd tried to warn her were right.
Her boots were in the bottom of her duffel bag. She knelt on the floor to get them out, then sat back, looking them over. A bit down at the heels, she decided, but basically sound. Habit had made her toss them in the bag instead of packing them away in one of the boxes that filled the storage unit she rented, but it had been a long time since she'd worn them. For a lot of years, though, she would no more have left her riding boots behind than she would have traveled without her toothbrush. Less, actually. She could always buy another toothbrush.
The boxes in that storage unit held pieces of her past and a fistful of her dreams for the future. Hannah might be a rolling stone now, but she wouldn't always be living in other people's homes. She had plans. Over the years she'd accumulated a lot of things for the house she would own someday, and when that day came she'd open all those boxes. It would be like a dozen Christmases happening all at once.
Especially if she wasn't alone when she opened them.
That thought made her frown at her boots. Sometimes when she thought about the home she would one day own, she imagined that someone was there with her. Someone … important.
She stood, shaking off that vague image. She wasn't going to think about that. She certainly wasn't going to confuse those funny feelings she had around Nate with anything as real as forever-after love. She learned her lesson years ago. A practical woman took important things like love one slow, careful step at a time.
There was a small stool in front of the pretty antique vanity. Hannah sat on it to tug on her boots, then turned to face the mirror. Ugh. Her hair needed a major overhaul. She pulled out the twisty and picked up her brush.
Her heart was beating too hard. She couldn't decide whether it was fear or anticipation that had set it to such an unsteady rhythm. Frowning, she started brushing her hair. Maybe she'd been too impetuous this time, agreeing to ride out into the middle of nowhere with a man whose neighbors considered him violent.
Not all of them thought that, she reminded herself, the brush moving faster along with her thoughts. A couple of people had obviously disapproved of the gossip that the others were intent on feeding Hannah, and had helped her to turn the subject. But neither had everyone who warned her seemed spiteful or small-minded. Some of them had seemed genuinely concerned about her, and she didn't know why she'd felt compelled to defend her difficult employer. Good grief, the stupid man wouldn't say one word in his own defense! What made her think she knew him better than all those other people did?
Well … there was the way he was with animals. Her face softened as she thought about him and his dog. There was no fear in Trixie of her master, and surely there would have been if he had the kind of temper some of his neighbors claimed he did—a temper like his father's. From what she'd heard today, Nate's father had been dangerous when he got angry. He had been a man who let his rage control him.
People had tried to tell her that Nate was just like his father. She didn't believe it.
Hannah winced when her brush caught on a particularly nasty tangle. Really, she knew better than to rush through brushing like this. Hair as curly as hers tangled quickly and badly, and she was going to hurt herself if she weren't careful. She took a deep breath and tried to slow down, but her heart was still pounding, pounding, much too fast.
* * *
Nate set out the leftover roast, the bread and lettuce and tomato, and began methodically assembling sandwiches. Today was Hannah's day off, which left him with kitchen duty. But he didn't mind.
She was going riding with him. In spite of everything she'd been told, she'd agreed to spend the afternoon with him. He told himself that a single horseback ride wouldn't get her into his bed, but it was a start.
Nate still wasn't sure why Hannah had agreed to go with him, but he knew one thing: she wanted him. That much he was sure of, and when he thought about the way her breath had caught when he teased the palm of her hand, his blood began to pool, low and hot, in his groin. He would have to handle her carefully today. He didn't want her changing her mind about him when he told her what had happened six years ago.
Nate piled the finished sandwiches on three plates, loaded them and some soft drinks on a tray, and headed for his brother's room. He'd already arranged for Abe to stay with Mark this afternoon.
Mark greeted the arrival of his lunch with enthusiasm. "Roast? From last night?"
"Yeah." Nate set the tray on the bedside table and took his plate with him to the recliner he'd moved in here after bringing Mark back from the hospital.
"I sure am glad you've quit making noises about Hannah being temporary," Mark said, reaching for his plate. "I haven't eaten this well in years."
"You have women wanting to feed you all the time." Nate bit into his sandwich.
"Among other things," Mark agreed cheerfully. "But just because a person is female doesn't mean she can cook. Not like Hannah. Even her leftovers taste great." He took a big bite. When he'd swallowed, he said casually, "I hear you and Hannah are going riding this afternoon."
"Yeah."
"So … what did you have in mind?"
Nate frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Mark's usual smile clung to his lips, but his eyes were dead serious. "I just wondered what you have in mind for her. Hannah isn't the sort—"
The phone rang. Nate stood and reached for it, glad for the interruption. He couldn't believe his bed-hopping brother was practically asking him what his intentions were. Apparently Hannah had gotten to him. Nate would have to make sure Mark understood that Hannah had been claimed.
"Jones ranch," he said.
"Hi," said a soft, feminine voice. "Is Hannah there? This is her sister."
* * *
Hannah was smiling when she hung up. She'd taken the call in Mark's room, her back turned to the two men who had eaten their sandwiches while she talked and pretended they weren't listening.
"Good news, I take it?" Mark asked.
She turned around. "That was my sister. She's in El Paso. She's got a job." She sighed, more relieved than she wanted to admit.
Mark sat in his bed, of course. He wore a T-shirt and the cutoffs she'd fixed with velcro along the side so they wouldn't have to be pulled up over his cast. He grinned at her and the effect was truly stunning. So why wasn't she stunned? Why did her eyes inevitably drift to the other man—the silent man with the harsh face and the unfathomable eyes that captured hers so easily?
"She's all right, then?" Nate asked quietly.
Hannah nodded. His eyes flickered with something—relief?—but they didn't release hers, and for some stupid reason there didn't seem to be enough air in the room. She felt as if she were waiting for something important, something…
"That's good." He turned away and set his empty plate on the tray.
Disappointment hit her like a fist to the belly, hard and unexpected. She'd wanted more from him. Stiffly, she said, "I guess I'm ready."
"Eat your lunch," he told her, heading for the door. "I'll see if I can find you a hat to wear. Only an idiot goes riding without a hat." And he was gone.