Adobe Palace

by Joyce Brandon

  Excited by the prospect of seeing her again, and terrified that she would tell him she was about to be married or something equally terminal to all his own hopes and dreams, Steve crumpled the note, finished what he was doing, packed a change of clothes, and rode down the mountain.

  He arrived at sundown. The whole western sky was red and gold and purple. As if she’d been watching for him, Samantha stepped out onto the porch. He rode up to the steps and dismounted, glad to get out of the saddle. He limped up the steps, feeling as melodramatic as Sender Thompson.

  Samantha greeted him with a smile. “You look all in.”

  In spite of all his resolve, an answering smile took over his face, and they just stood there smiling at each other. Finally he remembered himself and said, “These kinks’ll work themselves out in a minute.”

  Samantha walked to the end of the porch, Steve followed. She wore a white gown that made her pale face glow in the fading light. “I don’t know how to start,” she said, her melodious voice more hesitant than usual, softer. “I guess you should read this.” She proferred a wrinkled sheet of paper.

  Steve read it, glanced up at her, and the fleeting bleak look in his eyes told her that he did have something to hide. Then his barriers came up; his mouth tightened into a thin line. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice tight.

  “It came in the mail. Here’s the envelope.”

  Steve took it and held it up to read the postmark. “Might be Ham Russell trying to stir up more trouble. How far is the Dart spread from here?”

  “No,” Samantha said, shaking her head. “I won’t have you going over there to fight with him. If you say you know of nothing that would precipitate such a letter, I’ll accept that,” she said, giving him a chance to repudiate her hasty impression.

  “I swear to you, Samantha Forrester…” His voice broke. He appeared to struggle with strong emotions, not the least of which was rage at being so accused, “…that you can. I have never in my life deliberately hurt a child.” His voice was hoarse with feeling. His eyes seemed to glow with the intensity of his denial.

  “I think I knew that,” she said, touched in spite of her former perception. Maybe she’d been wrong.

  “You trust me then?”

  “Yes, I…”

  “Can I keep this?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She turned away and faced west. The sky flamed above the brilliant desert sunset. The red and gold of the clouds had now turned coral, floating above them like a fleet of galleons.

  Samantha glanced back at Steve. Even tired and dusty, he looked intense and appealing. His khaki eyes had softened at her avowal of trust. It pleased her tremendously that she was able to give it wholeheartedly. Something in her strained toward him. And something in him appeared to respond.

  “Well, if you have no more questions about the letter, I guess I’ll go take care of Calico. Thanks for sending him back up the mountain.” His voice was husky, dry. “He’s had a hard day.”

  “Has he?” she asked, her voice oddly breathless.

  A breeze blew a tendril of her hair across her lips. Of its own accord, Steve’s hand reached out to brush it off her warm, magnetic skin. “No,” he said ruefully. “My horse spent most of the day eating grass at the house site. I’m the one who’s had the rough day, and it’s getting rougher by the minute.” He needed to walk away, but with Samantha gazing up at him so intently, it was impossible.

  “Have one of my men tend your horse,” she whispered. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You could at least stay for dinner and catch me up on what’s been happening up there.”

  “We’re building a house,” he said gruffly.

  “Stay,” she said, her voice softer. “Stay and tell me about the house. Let someone else tend your horse.”

  “I like to tend my own horse. I can catch a bite in the kitchen.”

  “Would you rather do that?”

  With anyone else he could have lied. But in spite of how confusing she was, she had believed in him when it mattered. And she was vulnerable and lonely. She wanted him to eat dinner with her. And even if it was just her loneliness and had nothing to do with him as a man, he couldn’t deny her. He seemed to need to be in her company, too.

  “So, what did you and Lando do?”

  Samantha flushed. “Lance,” she said, stalling for time. “His name is Lance.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot,” he said, lying.

  “We didn’t do much.”

  “A smooth-talking, fast draw like him? You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that,” she insisted. “Steve…I hope Chane didn’t upset you too much.”

  “Lando upset me more.”

  “Did he?” she asked, foolishly.

  “You know damned good and well he did. So,” he asked, “what did you two do?”

  Samantha had hoped he would take another tack. “We just walked on the desert.”

  “And he kissed you.”

  “How did you…?” She stopped, realizing he’d tricked her.

  “And you kissed him back,” he whispered. “And if this were a penny novel, we could change scenes now.”

  “No, he didn’t make love to me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m a big boy now. I can take the truth.”

  “I’m happy for you. But he didn’t make love to me.”

  Steve’s heart was joyful, but part of him didn’t believe her. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he growled.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Look, I don’t need this aggravation. I hired on as your builder, and I’ll build your damned house in spite of your brother’s second-guessing my every decision, and in spite of your carrying on in front of me with your lover. So don’t think you have to justify yourself to me.” He turned and stalked down the steps.

  Samantha ran after him. “Steve, wait! It isn’t— I didn’t— Oh, damn!” She stopped. It was and she had. She may not have been made love to, but if he had tried instead of running away, she would have. But somehow it didn’t matter faced with Steve’s disappointment and upset. She just wanted to see him smile again.

  She ran after Steve again and caught him at the barn door. “I want you to stay for dinner.”

  “Why the hell should I?”

  He looked furious. His rage alternately enervated and energized her. “Because,” she whispered.

  “It doesn’t make any sense for me to be chasing after a woman who’s already in love with another man.”

  “Even if she’s confused?” she asked, biting her lip. She was betraying Lance now, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “What are you confused about?”

  “Everything.”

  “I’m within seconds of falling in love with you, Samantha. You already mean more to me than any other woman I’ve known. Don’t lead me on if there’s no hope.”

  “Have dinner with us,” she said softly.

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know.” She held her breath waiting for his answer.

  Steve searched her face and realized that she might be telling the truth. Lando may have tried to make love to her, but it might not have happened.

  “All right,” he growled. “I’ll probably regret it.”

  Samantha smiled—and Steve felt the beauty of her smile resonate the length and breadth of his body.

  “We’ll wait for you,” she said.

  He nodded and opened the barn door. She watched him disappear into the depths of the barn. His limp was gone now. Slim-hipped and lithe, he had a strong, quick stride. She was confused about everything else, but pleased with his answers about the letter. He had been sincere, concerned, and intensely grateful to her for believing in him.

  Samantha went to tell Juana to set another plate at the table. Half an hour later, Steve appeared at the front door, cleanshaven, his wet hair slicked back from his strong face. He wore a clean shirt and pants. He was still wary and
cautious with her, but at least he was there.

  Nicholas was so pleased to see Steve that he wanted all his attention. Samantha was mortified to notice that she wasn’t much better. She kept flirting with him.

  When she passed him the mashed potatoes, she touched his warm hand. When she poured his coffee, she brushed his arm. It was probably apparent to him as well. His eyes told her she was disturbing him—and she would not get away with it forever. She wasn’t sure that was the message he intended to send her, but it was the one she received.

  Dinner was over too soon. Before she could forestall him, Steve stood up and excused himself.

  “You don’t have to go to bed so soon, do you?” she asked, fighting her disappointment and the urge to ask him to stay for a while longer.

  “Yeah,” Nicholas piped in.

  “Four o’clock comes early.” His eyes were hooded against her. “Good night, Nicholas.”

  Tristera sidetracked Nicholas. Samantha flashed her a smile of gratitude, then followed Steve out onto the porch. They stood at the top step in awkward silence. Darkness was closing down fast. Crickets chirred. In the dim light streaming out the window, Steve looked dark and mysterious. She didn’t know why she had followed him out here or what to say. But she luxuriated in his closeness—the already familiar aroma of his bay rum aftershave lotion, the sturdiness of his manly frame.

  She felt torn between her torment at not being true to Lance and her inability to resist contact with Steve. But torment wasn’t enough to stop her. She heard herself saying, “I don’t see why you have to run away. It’s hardly dark…”

  Steve grabbed her firmly by the waist and pulled her into his arms. “You don’t, huh?” he asked, feigning surprise.

  “Nuh—no.” Sudden breathlessness overwhelmed her.

  “What if I told you I don’t want to talk about cattle or houses when I’m with you?”

  “What do you want to talk about?” she whispered, her heart pounding. She knew where this was leading, but she had no strength to resist him or herself. Part of her clamored for his touch. Her hands tingled to feel the warm skin of his neck. Her lips ached to feel his strong mouth.

  “Us,” he said firmly.

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a man who hasn’t even sent me one note in all the ti—”

  Steve cut her off by lowering his mouth to hers and wrapping his long arms around her. His mouth was hot and demanding. She was surrounded by him, engulfed by him. He kissed her until dizziness overcame her and she felt the unmistakable rising of his desire for her.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, pushing with trembling hands against his chest.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, you didn’t do anything,” he said, lifting his unruly eyebrow at her.

  Samantha couldn’t breathe or think. Her head spun. “I can’t…I mean…I can’t. I’m sorry,” she ended miserably.

  Steve laughed softly. “Okay, okay. You belong to someone else.” His words were correct, but his tone mocked her. “So tell me. Did he propose? Or did he just come for more free milk?”

  Of its own volition, her hand arced up and slapped him on the cheek. It wasn’t a hard slap, but it embarrassed her, and his expression changed, hardened. The look caused a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “I don’t care what you think!” she lied, panting with sudden emotion. “I haven’t slept with him, but I can’t sleep with you, either. Not until I decide what I’m going to do.”

  Steve parted his hands in a helpless gesture. “But he’s married,” he said.

  “Not much longer. Angie left him. They’re getting a divorce.”

  “So, he did propose.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “But he let you know that he’s free now.”

  “Well, I guess so.”

  Steve’s eyes flashed with some emotion she could not fathom. Then, without another word, he turned and stalked into the desert.

  Samantha wanted to call after him, to say she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant to strike him, but she couldn’t. Confusion overwhelmed her.

  Frustrated, she sought out Tristera, who had already gone to her room. The girl looked up from her book and smiled. “Has your carpintero slipped into the desert so soon?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “He is a fish, caught but still struggling against the hook, no?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Tristera’s laugh was one of the most mischievous Samantha had ever heard. Once she had gotten to know the girl, she realized Indian maidens were as playful as girls anywhere.

  “Have you been spying on me, Tristera?”

  “Sí.” Her pretty eyes flashed with merriment. Since Rathwick’s visit, Tristera had gotten over her initial anger. Life had slipped into a comfortable, lazy pattern. She still grieved, but she was even-tempered and thoughtful. Samantha liked the girl far more than she had expected to.

  “At least you’re not shy about your sins. Tell me, Tristera, what does an Indian maid do if she finds herself infatuated with two men at the same time?”

  “She picks the one with the most possessions.”

  Samantha laughed. “But seriously, if I gave you something that belonged to one of them, could you answer a question for me?” In New York City, Mrs. Lillian had taken Samantha to a psychic who could discern things by merely holding a piece of clothing belonging to the person about whom she wanted to ask questions.

  Tristera shook her head. “Sometimes in the past I could see things, but no more.”

  “Please! Just try.”

  Interpreting the look on Tristera’s face as false modesty, Samantha ran into her bedroom and rummaged through her bottom drawer. She uncovered her picture album, carried it into the parlor, sat down beside Tristera, and opened it to a picture of Lance.

  He did not like having his picture taken. In this one, he scowled directly into the camera. Samantha had gone with him for the mandatory class photograph. When the photographer told him to smile, she’d said, “Say money,” which worked better than cheese with the Kincaid children. Lance had quirked up one corner of his mouth and narrowed his eyes at her. The brown-tone print did not do justice to his brick-brown skin and his cathedral blue eyes. She called them that because they looked lighted from behind, the way the stained-glass windows did on church murals.

  Staring at the picture, Samantha felt a rush of love and longing. It was unfair that all she had to do was see him, even a picture of him, to feel intense emotion.

  Next to the picture lay the cravat Lance had worn the day he graduated from Harvard Law School. Samantha picked it up and handed it to Tristera.

  Resigned, Tristera studied the picture of the man, closed her eyes, and sat in silence for a moment, holding the fabric. To her amazement, she did see a vision.

  “I see the man in this picture coming to the new house and discovering that a miracle has happened in his life.”

  Samantha’s heart turned over. “This miracle…” She stopped, afraid to ask the question. “What is it?”

  Tristera closed her eyes, but nothing came, only a vague feeling. “I know not. It is something someone has wished for for a long time. I know not…”

  Samantha wondered if it had already happened.

  “Tristera, do you think it’s possible to be in love with one man and attracted to another?”

  “Sí, why not? We are only human.”

  Samantha groaned. “Then I don’t want to be human anymore. I need to keep my life simple.”

  “In my village, the elders say that challenges are good and not to be avoided.”

  Samantha turned away. She didn’t want to hurt Tristera’s feelings, but life was not so simple here. Steve Sheridan wasn’t a challenge, he was an opportunity to make a fool of herself, to be unfaithful to Lance, and to ruin any possibility of developing the kind of relationship she had always wanted with Lance.

  “Thank you, Tristera.” Turning away, Samantha vowed to avoid Steve Sheridan
and the trouble he could cause between herself and Lance. She vowed to behave herself tonight, to be grateful when Steve rode away tomorrow, and to ignore the empty feeling around her heart. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Steve Sheridan.

  Before dawn, while the sky was its darkest, Steve rose from his bed on the side of the mountain and walked through the morning chill to the house. A lone light burned in the kitchen. Juana had coffee perking and bacon frying.

  “Don’t you ever sleep, Juana?” he said, sticking his head in the outside back door.

  “Morning, señor.”

  Steve helped himself to coffee. Juana finished frying the thick bacon, and scrambled a pan of eggs. Then she took biscuits, hot and fresh from the oven, and gave him some of everything.

  Steve ate slowly, enjoying the food and Juana’s undemanding presence. He hadn’t slept well last night. He had been puzzling over the note Samantha had received. His mind had kept playing with it, searching for a reason, or a person, or anything else that would explain such a note.

  He drank another cup of coffee and watched the sky outside the kitchen window turn blue. Finally he stood up.

  “Good breakfast, Juana. If your old man doesn’t come back soon, I’ll marry you myself.”

  Juana giggled.

  Smiling, Steve stepped outside and walked toward the barn. Halfway there, a sting like a hornet’s hit his arm. Then he heard the distant crack of a rifle echoing between the house and mountain. Dropping onto the ground, Steve rolled sideways until he reached the water trough near the barn. The rifle kept firing. A woman screamed repeatedly, probably Juana.

  Bullets spanged up puffs of dirt all around him. Keeping the water trough between him and his assailant, Steve crawled into the barn. At Calico’s stall, he jerked Eagle Thornton’s .30-.30 out of his saddle sheath and crawled to the window. Bullets peppered the barn. Whoever was up there was enjoying himself…or themselves. It was hard to tell how many men were firing.

  Steve found a knothole to look through. Nothing moved on the mountainside. His first wish was that he hadn’t loaned his Sharps to Eagle Thornton, but he had wanted Eagle to have every possible advantage against any would-be rustlers.