by Kay Hooper
Watching her, Travis wanted to hold his breath for fear she would realize what she was at this moment and hide from him again. Still at the edge of sleep, she was vulnerable; she was a lovely, delicate girl with a sweet face and gentle gray eyes, and he had only seen her before in a two-year-old photo. She looked at him curious and wondering, as a girl would look upon a man she might see before her as she rounded a corner. No alarm shadowed her eyes.
The controlled woman he’d known until now fascinated him, the flickering wildness in her eyes sparking something deep within him; her every movement drew his gaze, the feline beauty of her nearly stopped his heart. But this girl, so still and quiet, her dreamy eyes pondering some mystery, this girl did stop his heart. He wanted to reach out and hold her, protect her against what the world would do to her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms to shut out cold reality. He wanted to build a world for her.
But Travis dared make no sudden move and dared not question, even silently, what he felt. Carefully, he sought to hold the moment.
“Who are you?” she asked suddenly, and it didn’t seem an odd question.
“Who am I?” His voice was husky, low. “I’m a man who loves children and animals and spring showers. I play tennis and swim and ride horses. I read books because ideas fascinate me, and I listen to music because my soul needs to hear it. That’s who I am, Saber.”
Still dreamy, she gazed at him. “Why are you here?”
Even more softly, he said, “Because I saw a shooting star one night and heard a voice I couldn’t believe.”
“Will you catch the star?” she asked.
“Only if you let me,” he whispered, and bent forward, still holding her hand, to kiss her tenderly.
Saber felt the soft warmth of his lips, the feathery touch that was gentle and undemanding, and something deep inside of her uncurled tentatively to bask in that glowing feeling. She touched his cheek with her free hand as he slowly drew away, a gesture without thought or will but prompted by a need beyond reason.
Not even harsh knocks on the sitting room door had the power to disturb her.
“Dinner,” he murmured, looking down at her with a peculiarly intense light in his green eyes.
She nodded, feeling bereft when he released her hand and rose to his feet. She watched him leave her bedroom to deal with the waiter, then sat up and slid from the bed reluctantly. The last tendrils of sleep were leaving her, but she held on to this odd, softened mood; she could remember feeling like this, but the memory was a distant one. Not the distance of time, but the distance of experience.
Saber stood just inside the sitting room, staring at his broad shoulders as he closed the door behind the waiter. She was conscious of something fragile being in the room with them, something a careless word or gesture could destroy in an instant. Uneasiness flickered within her, a dim realization of her own vulnerability, but she dismissed it as he turned to face her.
The softened, fragile mood held—for a while. They ate their meal, watching as the night aged outside their windows, speaking quietly about inconsequential things. Travis watched her unobtrusively, still feeling as if he held his breath. The banked desires within him stirred, but he kept them under control, driven even more strongly by an urge to understand this gentle side of her.
Then, when the dinner remains had been sent away, they were left, alone with nothing to occupy them. Nothing but each other and a growing awareness.
Saber tried to ignore the restlessness, needing the brief peace she had felt. But there was something inside of her stronger than peace, something that had napped longer than her body and was now awakening within her. She wanted to cry out in protest as she found herself pacing, found herself keeping distance between herself and Travis.
He was dangerous. That was what she had to remember. Against her will, she remembered a gentle kiss and an odd, hot tenderness in green eyes, and her thoughts shied violently.
“Saber?”
His deep voice seemed to play over her taut nerves like a physical caress, and when she turned from the window to face him it was with the stiff, jerky motion of reluctance.
Travis rose from the chair where he had watched her pacing, feeling his own face tighten as he saw the wariness in hers. Regret flowed through him, regret and frustration and a growing bewilderment. “How many women are you, Saber?” he mused. “What in your life divided you like this?”
“We were going to leave my past out of this,” she reminded him, holding herself still when she wanted so badly to—What? She didn’t know. Except that she wanted.
He stepped toward her, the movement putting his face in shadow as the lamp behind him silhouetted his lean body. “I don’t care who you were,” he said, his voice strained. “Not now. I only care about who you are. But you won’t let me get close. You won’t let me in.”
Saber took a deep breath, fighting the temptation to tell him anything he wanted to know. Dimly, she realized that what had once seemed a wonderful and exciting secret to a child had become a woman’s intolerable burden. She wondered when that had happened; had it been instantaneous or a gradual thing? Had she awakened one morning to the shocked realization of what she was, what she would always be? Or had it come to her slowly over the years? When had her sense of power become a trap?
Dear God … she was so tired of hiding. And her escape from hiding had become a prison she had never intended. This was her prison. The prison of having no name, no past. The prison of gazing into a man’s puzzled eyes and being unable to answer his questions.
Travis took another step toward her, his hand lifting as though he would have touched her. But Saber turned quickly toward her bedroom, her tension so great, so brittle, that she guarded herself from his touch as she would have guarded fragile crystal from a blow.
She’d shatter. If he touched her, she would shatter, and the dear Lord only knew if she could put herself back together again.
“Good night, Travis,” she said huskily.
He drew a deep breath, his hand falling. “Good night, Saber.”
It was a long time before Travis went into his own bedroom. He stood at the window and gazed out into the night, the ache within him now a familiar pain.
FOUR
TRAVIS STOOD IN the wings, his gaze following Saber. The powerful lights turned her sequined evening gown to liquid gold, and her sensuous movements intensified that image. Music filled the huge building, and the roar from the audience was a steadily building force that seemed a living thing.
She was giving them everything inside her.
He felt it as he had before, as the audience felt it. He felt waves of power and passion emanating from the spotlighted woman until his throat tightened with emotion and his hands gripped her wrap convulsively.
It was difficult to think clearly, but Travis forced himself to remember this long day. She had been more than elusive, more than just out of reach. She had been gone. Only a note had greeted him this morning, a brief apology that she had “things to take care of.” He had come here and waited, watching the band assemble, watching the rehearsal that had been explosive itself. Then she had disappeared again, leaving her gown here and having no reason to return to the hotel until after the performance.
It had been a very long day.
Travis, with little to do but think, came to several conclusions. In spite of the ache that left him sleepless, restless, he realized he could get no relief. If he pushed Saber too hard or too fast, she would put herself forever out of his reach. He realized that she would be even more wary because he had seen the vulnerable side of her. And he realized that—somehow—he had to convince her he was no threat.
He didn’t know if he had the patience. His deepest instincts urged him to hold her tightly with the first firm grasp he could manage, but his mind warned him that he would never hold her unless she allowed him to. That would take time. And trust. If it came at all.
And now …
Travis listened to that naked voice, ever
ything stripped from it but raw emotion. He watched her fling that powerful, invisible part of herself out into a faceless audience with the savage release of an electric current gone wild, and it crackled around her.
He had never seen her give so much, and when she stumbled from the stage he was quickly and silently there to drop the wrap around her shoulders and lead her toward the exit. They were too quick for the fans surging around the building to get a closer look at Saber; the limo pulled away even as the first shouts reached them.
She was tense beside him in the darkness, and Travis said nothing. He remained silent during the ride to the hotel and in the elevator up to their suite. His first words came only when she returned to the sitting room after showering and changing into a loose robe to find the coffee he had ordered waiting for her.
“I still don’t agree with coffee this late,” he said dryly, handing her a cup.
“It works for me.” Saber sat down at the end of the long couch, her face nearly translucent with exhaustion.
He sat down near her, watching her sip the coffee. “You’ll burn yourself out if you keep this up.”
Saber smiled a little. “No. I can rest now.” Then she sent him an oblique glance. “Or can I?”
Travis linked his fingers together and gazed down at them for a long moment. When his eyes lifted, something regretful and pained shimmered there. “I pushed,” he said.
She knew he was referring to the day before, which had been answered by her disappearing act today. “You pushed.” She nodded. “I don’t like running away, Travis. Don’t make me run away again.”
“All right,” he said quietly. “We’ll just get to know each other. You need rest after tonight … after this tour … and we’ll take all the time you need for that. I promise, Saber.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she managed to say. The glaze of her weariness was between them, and Saber welcomed it. She didn’t want to think about anything for a while. Not what she was beginning to feel for him. Not her past or future. Nothing. At least for a while.
“Go to bed,” he ordered gently.
She didn’t think about arguing, either. She went to bed.
Only the ringing of the phone disturbed their breakfast the next morning. Saber had awakened cheerful, her manner toward Travis light; clearly, she was at least willing to accept his word for the moment. And he was determined to make no more mistakes. Patience had become his watchword.
With a faintly apologetic gesture, she rose and went to sit on the couch, lifting the receiver from its place on the end table. “Hello?”
Travis watched her unobtrusively as he finished his meal. He saw her face change, soften, even as it turned curiously wary.
“No, it went well,” she said into the phone. “Yes, I am, and I’m planning to take a rest. Cory’s place; it isn’t crowded this time of the year, and I’ve taken a cottage …. The landing strip in Prescott, then a car.” She frowned suddenly. “No, don’t do that. I know what I—It’s the back of beyond out there. There’s no need to—” She listened to her caller in frowning silence for a moment, then spoke wryly. “I know there’s a pad, but I’d really prefer not to make use of it … . I’m being unreasonable? Look, I’ll arrange it, all right? Yes, I promise. Right. Bye.”
Saber cradled the receiver and sat frowning at Travis for a moment.
“Is it something I’ve done?” he asked politely.
She blinked, then smiled. “No. Do you object to helicopters?”
“On principle, no,” he answered, taking the question at face value.
“Good.” She picked up the receiver again and placed a long-distance call, reaching her party almost instantly. “Cory Stewart, please. Oh, hi …. No, but you sounded harassed …. Really? Well, everybody’s curious about you and you can’t blame them …. All right, since I value my neck, I’ll shut up about that.” She smiled a little, apparently listening to a somewhat lengthy response. “All right. Yes, I’ll be heading your way in an hour or so. Cory, does Lee still fly his charter service? Oh, damn, I wanted to—You did? Well, I wondered when you’d get around to it. Can I trust you with my precious skin?” Her smile widened. “Don’t be rude to a paying customer. Okay, I’ll call you in about an hour and let you know when we’ll be arriving. … Just a stray I picked up: can you spare him a room?” Saber grinned as Travis made a face at her, then briskly ended her conversation. “Great. I’ll call in about an hour.”
“Am I the stray you picked up?” Travis demanded as soon as she’d hung up.
“Just a figure of speech, Travis.”
“Uh-huh.” He stared at her. “Not that I mean to pry, but who is Cory Stewart, and just where are we going?”
Saber returned to the table, sitting down and reaching for her coffee. “Cory Stewart is a friend of mine; she owns the place where we’re going on my vacation. And we’re going to Arizona.” “Arizona? What’s in Arizona?” She smiled at him gently. “A dude ranch.” Travis realized that his mouth was open and hastily closed it. “A dude ranch. I see.”
He was still a bit bemused when the Lear taxied to a stop at a landing strip in Prescott, Arizona, some considerable time later—and not only because their destination was a dude ranch. Having accepted his word that he wanted only to get to know her, Saber had completely relaxed in his company. During the trip he’d discovered she had a mischievous sense of humor and a hypnotically sweet smile that revealed an elusive dimple.
“You’ll love Cory; everybody does,” she said as they stood beside the jet with their baggage. She had no time to say more but gestured slightly at the woman approaching them.
Travis blinked at the sight; he couldn’t help it. From the few things Saber had mentioned about their hostess during the trip out here, he had evolved a mental image quite different from the reality. He’d imagined a brisk and cheerful woman, yes, but smaller. Considerably smaller.
Cory Stewart was dressed in jeans, a blue denim shirt, and running shoes rather than western boots, and she sported a billed cap atop a riotous mass of flaming red hair. Green-eyed and with a husky voice, she was a stunning woman somewhere in her midtwenties. And she was every inch of six feet tall.
It was obvious that the two women were good friends, and Cory looked Travis over with a critical but curiously indulgent eye as she shook hands with him briskly.
“So you’re the stray, huh? Only Saber could call you that. I’ve read your books; you’re good.” Giving Travis no time at all to respond to her remarks, she directed the next few to Saber. “Jed’ll guard your Lear with his life; he’s even promised to wash it. C’mon—the chopper’s this way.” Then she grabbed a bag in either hand and strode off across the field.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Saber murmured, picking up a small bag.
Travis took it away from her. “Does she command armies in her spare time?” he asked wryly.
As they trailed after their hostess, Saber replied, “The staff at the ranch would say so. For myself, I think she should work her talents on the United Nations. The world would be dazed—but better off.”
He laughed, then meekly climbed aboard the blue-and-white helicopter when ordered to do so. Earphones made conversation possible within the craft when they’d lifted off, but Travis was a bit too unnerved by Cory’s seat-of-the-pants flying techniques to contribute anything to the casual dialogue carried on by the women.
He wondered briefly why Saber’s avowed fear of flying apparently didn’t extend to this helicopter ride, then he filed the question away and concentrated instead on watching the dizzily passing scenery of mountains and valleys. Major highways appeared few and far between, and he realized that Saber’s description of “the back of beyond” had been apt.
The phrase reminded him of her call and of the unidentified person she had talked to. Travis had ventured a single question during the trip from Kansas City, to which she’d replied simply, “No, I’d rather not tell you. Sorry.” He had left it at that, but to say that he was curious w
ould have been an understatement. It was yet another item he filed away for the future … the near future.
So wrapped up was he in his own brooding thoughts that Travis realized only belatedly that they’d arrived at their destination. Before he could get more than a glimpse of a sprawling expanse of buildings nestled in a beautiful valley, the helicopter dipped below tree level and settled itself with barely a thump on a concrete pad.
Cory talked to them vivaciously as they made their way along a graveled walkway toward the central building. It was a large three-story house with a wide porch on two sides, whitewashed and lovely. To the left, a four-rail fence framed a view of rolling pastureland, and to the right were other graveled paths leading to smaller buildings—cottages, Travis assumed. He could also see a couple of tennis courts, and a faint, distant splash hinted at the existence of a pool.
It didn’t really look like the tourist conception of Arizona, but since he’d been in this part of the state before, Travis was not surprised.
“Saber can show you around,” Cory told him in her innately warm and friendly voice. “She knows the place almost as well as I do. There are trails all through the mountains for walking or riding, a pool, and tennis courts. You can have your meals in the main house, have ’em sent to your cottage, or else ask to have your kitchen in the cottage stocked and do for yourself. We’re pretty informal here; if we’re having a party or special dinner, I ask that you wear shoes—otherwise you dress however you feel.”
Travis laughed as they halted a few steps from the main house, then realized that Cory was eyeing them both rather sheepishly.
“There’s just one—small—matter I’d better discuss with you.”
“Cory, what’ve you done?” Saber demanded, instantly suspicious.
The glowing redhead pulled on an innocent expression. “I swear it wasn’t intentional, Saber. How could it be? I didn’t know you were bringing company until today.”