The Reluctant Lark

by Iris Johansen

  “If you insist,” O’Brien drawled. “I’ll forgive you your churlishness as it’s no doubt generated by your eagerness to be alone with that beautiful Irish colleen at your side.” He winked at Sheena. “But you should try to conquer that rampant selfishness and let the rest of us poor males enjoy the sight of her. Did you know that there’s a barn dance at the McAlisters’ spread tonight?”

  “No, and I can’t say that it particularly interests me. We’ve had a long flight, and we’re a little tired.”

  O’Brien’s gaze moved to Sheena. “Your lovely guest doesn’t look at all weary,” he said softly, his voice coaxing. “Wouldn’t you like to experience a piece of real Americana, O stranger to our shores?”

  Rand’s hand tightened warningly on her elbow, and Sheena suddenly felt a tinge of rebellion flood her. It was obvious that he didn’t want her to mix with his friends and associates at the neighboring ranch. Perhaps he regarded it as a risk to his plans for her.

  “I would indeed, Nick,” she said, giving him a glowing smile. “How nice of you to think of it.”

  “Great!” O’Brien turned on the ignition. “I’ll pick you both up at eight and chauffeur you over to the McAlisters’ myself.” Without waiting for a reply, he put the car into gear and tore off across the stable yard without even a backward glance at Challon’s frowning face.

  Rand muttered a very explicit obscenity beneath his breath and frowned at Sheena. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” he said grimly. “You and Nick may be soulmates at that. You both have a decided attraction for trouble. You knew damn well I didn’t want to go to that party tonight.”

  “Yes, I did,” Sheena said coolly. “It couldn’t be because you were afraid that I’d find someone who would help me escape from you, could it?”

  Rand shook his head as he propelled her up the porch steps. “Hell, no! I damn well own this particular part of the world. Everyone you’ll meet tonight either owes me favors or would like to receive a few. The only thing you’d gain by making an appeal would be to embarrass both yourself and them.” He opened the unlocked front door and allowed her to precede him into the small foyer. “I just wanted to avoid Nick as much as possible. When he gets an idea in his head, he worries it like a dog does a bone. I may end up having to tell him the whole story just to get him off my back.”

  “What a pity,” Sheena said with dulcet sweetness. “Since he’s evidently such a clever man, perhaps he’ll realize just how criminally foolish this little adventure is.”

  “Don’t count on any help from Nick, Sheena,” Rand warned, his golden eyes narrowing menacingly. “He may be a wild devil, but he’s a very loyal friend.”

  “Well have to see about that,” Sheena stated flippantly, then swept past him to the staircase to the left of the foyer. “Is my bedroom upstairs? I’d like to shower and change.” She arched an eyebrow mockingly. “I suppose with your usual efficiency you’ve arranged for some clothes for me?”

  “Our room is at the head of the stairs,” Rand said grimly. “Our room, our bed, our life. Get used to it, dove. From now on we’re a permanent team.”

  “Only if I choose it to be so,” Sheena retorted, as she started up the stairs. “I’ll not let you have it all your own way, Rand Challon.” She looked back over her shoulder, her dark eyes challenging. “Well, do I have anything to wear tonight?”

  There was a flicker of surprise mixed with what might have been admiration in his eyes. “You’ll find everything you’ll need in the closet in the master bedroom. I had some of your wardrobe transferred this afternoon from the guest room at Crescent Creek.”

  “I thought you might have,” Sheena said coolly. “Is there a bathroom upstairs?”

  Rand nodded. “Yes, milady,” he drawled, watching her turn and climb the stairs with regal dignity. “Down the hall and to your left. I’ll let you shower first, while I go to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. If you’re determined to go out on the tiles tonight, we may need a dose of caffeine. If you’ll recall, we didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  He gave a sudden amused chuckle as Sheena uttered an indignant exclamation. He then watched with an odd glint of pride in his eyes as she tilted her small nose in the air and disappeared up the stairs.

  It was a wonderful party, Sheena thought hazily, as she moved slowly about the rough wooden floor in Rand’s arms. She couldn’t ever remember being to such a splendid occasion in all her life. The guests were splendid, the food was splendid, and the fruit punch was particularly splendid. Splendid was such a rich, meaningful word, and it exactly fitted her opinion of this wonderful evening, she thought dreamily. She nestled close to Rand’s strong body, vaguely aware that some of the paper lanterns had been extinguished and that the huge barn had taken on a romantic atmosphere that was gloriously incongruous to the mundane surroundings. Glorious was a splendid word, too, she thought happily. She started humming softly along with the musicians, and she heard Rand’s indulgent chuckle beneath her ear.

  “How many trips did you make to the punch bowl this evening, dove?” he asked, as his arms tightened around her.

  “What?” she asked vaguely, lifting her head to gaze into his golden eyes. What lovely eyes they were. They seemed to encompass all the laughter and tenderness in the world. “I don’t remember. It was very good, though, wasn’t it?”

  “Very good.” His voice was serious, but his eyes were twinkling. “And very potent. I should have kept a better eye on you, love. It’s practically traditional for the boys to take turns spiking the punch.”

  “It had absolutely no effect on me, whatever,” Sheena told him solemnly. “You see, I’m accustomed to good Irish whiskey.”

  “In staggering quantities, no doubt,” Rand said, his lips twitching. “Have you ever heard of white lightning?”

  “White lightning?” she asked, her dark eyes widening.

  “Never mind, dove. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Did you have a good time at your first barn dance?”

  “Oh, yes.” she breathed enthusiastically. Slipping her arms about his waist, she nestled her head against his black cotton shirt. Rand was all in black, from his shiny black boots and jeans to the simple fitted western shirt that hugged his muscular shoulders with loving detail. The somber garments accentuated his tawny coloring. “I particularly liked the square dancing. It’s a very vigorous folk dance, isn’t it?”

  “Very,” he agreed. “Though you’re such a featherweight that I’m afraid those roughnecks got a bit carried away tossing you about.”

  “I loved it.” She sighed contentedly. “It was like flying.”

  “I know you did,” he said tenderly, “That’s why I didn’t have the heart to step in and put an end to it. You were like a bit of thistledown whirling out of control on the dance floor tonight.”

  “I think I looked quite like one of your Texas cowgirls,” Sheena said, looking down happily at her scarlet prairie skirt with its white cotton underskirt and matching off-the-shoulder blouse. Even her small cream leather boots looked quite satisfyingly western.

  “Sorry, love, I can’t agree. You look more like my wild gypsy lass than ever.” His face abruptly lost its gentle, teasing expression. “I didn’t see you indulging in any sotto voce machinations. I gather you’re abandoning your plan to escape my evil clutches?”

  “Of course not,” she asserted sturdily, her brow wrinkling in a frown. “I have every intention of escaping. I just decided to do it tomorrow.”

  “I see. A very wise decision, my dear Scarlett. You just keep on thinking that way.” He stopped in the middle of the dance floor. “Now, I think we’d better get you home while you’re still floating on that pink cloud.”

  “All right,” Sheena said agreeably. “But what about Nick?” Rand was propelling her steadily toward the door, and she looked over her shoulder trying to search out that raven head among the dancers.

  “I told Nick that I’d take you home in the jeep and for him to catch a ri
de back to Crescent Creek with one of the men,” Rand said. They passed outdoors into the surprisingly cool night.

  “I like Nick,” she confided, as she did a half step to keep up with him.

  “All women like Nick.” They reached the yellow jeep, and Rand swung her up into the passenger seat, then walked around the jeep and slipped lithely behind the wheel. “Now, hush up, and let me get you back to the Triple X before the euphoria turns into a very bad head.”

  She shot him an indignant glance and was about to make a cutting rejoiner when he took off with an explosive propulsion that almost rivaled O’Brien’s.

  She was smugly triumphant when they did reach the ranch, for she was still as marvelously uplifted as when they had left the dance. Couldn’t the man tell the difference between being tipsy and sheer good spirits? If she was a trifle dizzy when he lifted her down from the jeep, she felt sure it was only the sudden cessation of motion after their wild, careening drive over the rough terrain.

  Rand steadied her against his warm, hard body for a moment before he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the house.

  “I can walk,” she protested.

  “I know,” Rand said soothingly. “I just like to hold you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Sheena said. Her head fell contentedly on his shoulder. It seemed a perfectly appropriate answer. She liked to hold him, too.

  Sheena was vaguely conscious of being placed on the crisp eyelet coverlet of the double bed in the master bedroom. Then Rand’s hands were busy loosening and removing her clothes. She heard him swear once as he pulled at one stubborn cream boot, but then it was free, and she was left in peace for a time.

  It was uncomfortably cool on the cotton bedspread, she thought crossly, so she turned on her side and huddled in a ball. She felt her body being moved as the covers on which she was lying were drawn back. Then a warm, strong body that was already endearingly familiar was in bed with her, and Rand folded her securely in his arms, sharing his warmth. He pulled the covers over both of them, his lips pressing lazy kisses on her temple.

  “Go to sleep, love,” he whispered. “You’ve flown long and hard, it’s time to return to the nest.”

  Sheena cuddled closer, her lips buried in the warm hollow of his throat. “Was I a lark tonight?” she asked drowsily, barely conscious of uttering the words.

  Rand’s arm tightened around her. “Oh, yes,” he said with an odd huskiness in his voice. “God, yes. You were a magnificent lark, sweetheart.”

  “Good,” she said contentedly, as she felt the warm throb of his pulse against her cheek lulling her into the comforting darkness of sleep.

  The first movements were as gentle and soft as the fine Irish rain, and she sighed with contentment as she felt her thighs parted and Rand’s magical hands caressing and toying with the very heart of her. He was infinitely slow and easy, not demanding anything of her but her submission. She was almost asleep again when she felt him enter her with painstaking carefulness, his warm hardness stretching and filling her with the urgency of his need.

  She opened her eyes slowly and made a little sound that reflected both her surprise and contentment. Rand was bending over her, an expression of almost glazed intentness on his face. At her exclamation, he looked down at her with a smile that took her breath away with its loving tenderness.

  “Shh,” he crooned softly. “Just relax, love. I’ll do it all.” He lowered his lips to kiss her with fairylike lightness. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I found I couldn’t go to sleep without returning to my nest.” He made a movement with his hips that caused her to catch her breath and was more than self-explanatory.

  Then with a delicacy that Rand had never before shown her in their wild, almost desperate lovemaking, he began to move. Each thrust was as easy and gentle as the first, and she gradually relaxed and obeyed his instructions and left it up to him. She was halfway between waking and sleep, and it was deliciously sensual to be moved and stroked and praised while Rand took his own pleasure with her body.

  But suddenly it wasn’t enough. Sheena began to move against him with a frantic urgency that caused him to clutch her to him in a wild flurry of passion that erupted into a feverish climax.

  “Sweet lovely lark,” he said afterward, as he tucked the sheet around her and settled her possessively in his embrace. He was Stroking her satin back with a soothing gentleness, and she felt his lashes oddly wet against her cheek. “My lark.”

  She nodded drowsily and went peacefully back to sleep.

  The noon sun was streaming through the frilly eyelet curtains when Sheena next opened her eyes. She was vaguely conscious of an uneasy sensation of loneliness, of something not as it should be. Then she realized that she was no longer wrapped in Rand’s arms, which had held her so tightly through the night. She looked in sudden panic at the pillow next to hers, but only a slight indentation recalled his presence. She sat upright, then groaned aloud as she felt pains shooting through her head. Her hands went to her temples, and she rubbed them ruefully. So much for her confidence that she could hold her drinks, she thought wryly. What was that odd term Rand had used? Oh, yes, white lightning.

  Her discomfort and sense of desertion were partially dispelled when she noticed the open bedroom door and heard the muffled sound of water running through the pipes. Rand must be in the shower, she realized, with a ridiculous sense of relief. She leaned back on the pillow and allowed herself to relax.

  How foolish to fly into a panic just because Rand had not been there when she awoke, she thought. She had opened her eyes every day of her twenty-two years to a world with no Rand Challon. Yet it had taken only two days for her to realize how empty and meaningless her future would be without him beside her every morning.

  Her gaze traveled lazily about the room, finding it just as pleasant as she had thought the previous afternoon. It was not nearly as luxurious as Rand’s cabin in Canada, but it had a simple hominess that was enhanced by the polished oak floors and the slightly worn blue wing chair in the far corner of the room. The only furniture besides the double bed was the maple chest of drawers beside the door and a small matching bedside table.

  It was as her eyes were glancing carelessly at the bedside table that her attention was caught by the glass of water with the white card with her name scrawled in bold black letters propped against it. Directly below it was a pretty white plastic compact with gold embossing on it, and she reached over and picked it up curiously. It must be a gift from Rand, but this cheap, trinket was not the type of present that Challon would choose, she thought in puzzlement.

  It was only when she flipped open the lid that she understood. She stared blankly at the rows of tiny pink pills arranged in neat circles, and color swiftly flooded her face. She uttered a low, involuntary moan of distress. The shock was like a blow when she realized the cold, cynical message inherent in Rand’s gift of the pills.

  She shook her head dazedly as she swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood up. The pill. She had been so involved in the sheer sensual ecstasy of Rand’s lovemaking that she had not given a thought to the possible ramifications. It seemed that Rand had not been similarly carried away, she thought numbly, and she hurriedly pulled on jeans and a white oxford cloth shirt. He had obviously wanted to protect himself from the possible results of their union.

  She felt a chill of desolation sweep over her as she carelessly slipped on a pair of loafers and ran from the room and down the stairs without even taking a comb to her hair.

  She ran down the porch steps and started walking blindly, her emotions in a confused turmoil. She didn’t know herself why Rand’s rejection of a possible child by her filled her with such pain. She knew their relationship might be an ephemeral one at best. She herself had told Rand that she would leave at the first opportunity. It was only reasonable that he would not want to take any chances that a pregnancy might result from a brief affair. Her mind could accept Challon’s reasoning, but her emotions recoiled with an instinctive rev
ulsion at the cool emotionlessness of Rand’s action.

  She walked for a long time, not even noticing the heat of the strong afternoon sun on her uncovered head or the distance that she’d wandered from the house. It was only when she happened on a small inviting pond surrounded by huge weeping willows that she realized how hot and tired she’d become. It was such a lovely, peaceful spot, she thought, as she sat down in the long grass bordering the bank. The water in the pond was deep green, and there were white water lilies floating on its dark surface like perfect jewels in a velvet display case. The weeping willows’ profusion of lacy fronds trailed the ground and danced gracefully with every vagrant breeze.

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the warm sun bathe her in its soothing balm and relax the tension that was gripping her. She sat there for a long time, listening to the whoosh of the breeze through the willows and the soft, throaty sound of the birds. She deliberately blocked out the unhappy thoughts that were rioting through her mind and disturbing the serenity of the moment and strove to enjoy the beauty around her.

  Presently, tempted by the hot sun and the solitude, she stripped off her clothes and entered the emerald water of the pond. The water was cold and silky against her hot flesh, and she remained there longer than she had intended. She swam lazily among the water-lily pads, then dreamily floated and watched the reflection of the willow fronds on the water.

  When she reluctantly climbed back on the bank, the sun was a good deal lower in the sky. It took very little time for the sun to dry the excess moisture from her body, and then she leisurely donned her jeans and shirt. She stretched out on the bank to run her fingers through her wet, curly mop and allowed the sun to dry it quickly into a wild, glossy aureole about her head.

  “Isn’t that just like a woman. We’re scouring the countryside for you, and you’re out taking a sunbath.”

  Sheena sat up, startled. Nick O’Brien was sitting indolently on the back of a tall black stallion, perhaps ten yards away. One jean-clad leg was crossed casually over the pommel as he looked down at her, a grin on his face. He was wearing a bright blue shirt that deepened his aquamarine eyes to almost turquoise.