“Workers’ shacks?”
“My parents are migrant workers, and so are my brothers and sisters. I was born in the back of a pickup truck at the side of the road.” She slowly shook her head. “My mother couldn’t remember which state we were in. They had the devil of a time getting a birth certificate for me when it was time for me to start school.”
“I don’t know why, but I assumed you were an orphan. You seem so … alone.”
“I am alone.” She drew up her legs and linked her arms loosely about them. “I’ve always been alone, even when I lived with my family. There’s no one more isolated than the ‘different’ one in the family. My parents didn’t understand why I couldn’t be like my brothers and sisters.” She rested her chin on one knee, her lashes lowering to veil her eyes. “I couldn’t accept the life we led. I didn’t mind the hard labor and the traveling from state to state, but they lived without hope. I couldn’t do that. I had to try,” she said fiercely. “I studied and worked my way out of those shacks and I’m never going back. Why won’t they fight? They’re at the mercy of the owners, the overseers, the government, even fate itself. I wanted them to come with me, or at least let me help with the expenses to educate my youngest brother, Mark.”
“They refused?”
She smiled crookedly. “Oh, they take the money I send them, but I haven’t heard of any of it being spent on education. They usually buy presents for everyone in the family and spend whatever is left on parts or tires for the pickup truck.” She hunched her shoulders wearily. “Maybe the presents make them happier for a little while anyway. I guess you can’t force people to think as you do.”
“No.” He was silent for a moment, staring at her. “My Lord, you must have had a rough life.”
“There were a few sharp edges.” She glanced up anxiously and frowned. “Look, I’m not complaining. My childhood wasn’t ideal, but whose childhood is, for heaven’s sake? My parents weren’t cruel, and I think they even tried to love me. They were just so beaten down, they had no energy left for affection. I’ve never found anyone to be really cruel once I’ve gotten to know and understand them. Some people can be very kind.” She paused before adding gravely, “You’re wonderfully kind, York.”
He felt a little jolt of shock. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone list kindness as one of my virtues.”
“No? Then they don’t really know you. You’re kind and thoughtful and patient and—”
He laughed. “Are we talking about the same person? You ought to have a talk with Deuce. He knows all my faults and reminds me of them frequently.”
“Yet he loves you,” she said softly. “He loves you very much.”
He moved his shoulders uneasily. “We’ve been through a lot together.”
Sierra had to hide a smile when she saw that he was actually becoming embarrassed. He was incredibly lacking in conceit. It was one of the more endearing characteristics she had discovered in him. She had learned a good deal about him in the past few evenings. They had grown amazingly companionable in such a short time as they had talked, listened to music, and watched television. Besides being one of the most honest and straightforward men she had ever met, he had a quiet sense of humor and an innate sensitivity that had surprised her. “Look how kind you’ve been to me,” she went on. “Just the perfect example of a big brother.” She grinned mischievously when she saw a slight flush rise to his cheeks. “Sorry, York. You’ll simply have to get accustomed to the notion that you’re absolutely wonderful.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You like making me uncomfortable.”
“Well, I hope you noticed I refrained from mentioning you were as beautiful as a peacock again.” She lowered her lashes demurely. “Though I was tempted to— York!”
He was suddenly down on the floor beside her, tumbling her backward to the carpet. He was quickly astride her, pinning her arms above her head. His sapphire eyes were laughing down at her. “A peacock, am I?”
Her own eyes were wide with surprise. She was curiously breathless, and her heart was pounding so hard, it was painful. She tried to smile and found her lips were trembling. “A very exotic peacock,” she said lightly. “Why should you mind me calling you that? You must see it every time you look in the mirror.” Even through the denim fabric separating them she could feel how warm his thighs were against her hips. A heated tingling was radiating from wherever his muscular legs were touching her. “Don’t you?”
“Don’t I what?” The laughter was gone from his eyes and they were … different. The pupils were dilated, and he was looking at her with an intensity that caused her to inhale sharply.
The sinewy muscles of his thighs were hardening against her soft flesh, and she felt her stomach knot, tauten, in response. There was something erotic in lying submissively beneath him like this. His lips were slightly parted, and there was a mesmerizing sensuality about them that caused her gaze to cling to them. He had asked her something, hadn’t he? She couldn’t gather her thoughts together to recall what it was. “I don’t remember,” she said.
“Neither do I.” He slowly lowered his head. She couldn’t look away from his beautiful mouth, and was suddenly agonizingly impatient. Why didn’t he hurry? Sierra wanted to touch him, taste him. She could see the drumming of the pulse in his strong tanned throat and she wanted to touch it too. She wanted to feel that throbbing against her tongue.
He still held his body away from hers, though he was close enough for her to feel its heat reach out and enfold her. “Tilt back your head, Sierra.”
She obeyed eagerly, instinctively. “I love your neck,” he murmured. “The skin is so soft, like velvet. I’ve wanted to …” His lips touched the sensitive cord at the side of her neck, and she gasped.
He was kissing her tenderly, lovingly, little kisses that drifted over her from the soft underside of her jaw to the hollow of her shoulder. Soft and sweet, yet each one sent a slow stream of fire into her veins. She moved her head from side to side, trying to offer more of herself to him. She arched her spine, desperate to touch him, to bring him closer, and her breasts brushed against his chest.
He shuddered and froze into stillness. “Do that again,” he said hoarsely.
She wanted it too. She wanted to feel his firm muscles against her softness. Yet she wasn’t really soft now, she noticed. Her breasts were swollen and heavy, the nipples pointing boldly through the fabric of her T-shirt. She lifted her body mindlessly, helplessly, rubbing against him with a pleasure that was near to pain. “York, this is …”
His eyes were closed, and he began to move his hips against her with the same heedless compulsion that was driving her. “Shhh. It’ll be all right. Just let me …”
She could feel the iron-hard length of him pushing against her, and she bit her lip to keep back the low moan that was trembling in her throat. Empty. She was so empty and yearning and …
His eyes flicked open. They were glazed and seemed almost blind with need. “Sierra, I have to have you. I’m hurting so damn much—” He suddenly broke off and drew a deep breath. “Lord, what am I saying?” Every muscle in his body seemed unbearably taut. Then he released her arms and swung off her with a lack of coordination that made him appear clumsy. His chest was still heaving with his labored breathing as he rose to his feet. “Come on. Get up,” he said.
She sat up a little dazedly. What had happened? He had left her so abruptly, tearing and destroying the lovely web of sensuality she hadn’t even known they were weaving.
“Get up and go to your room.” His hands were clenched at his sides. “I’m sorry I can’t act the gentleman and help you up, but I can’t afford to touch you right now.”
“All right.” She stood up, It had happened so swiftly, she was still bewildered. She hadn’t realized that levity could change to desire in the flicker of a moment. She turned quickly to the door. She wanted to leave as much as he wanted her to go. She had to think and try to get eve
rything into perspective.
“Sierra.”
She tensed. “Yes.”
“I’ve never felt like a big brother toward you. Don’t make that mistake again.”
“No.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “No, I won’t.”
Her steps were so swift, she was almost running as she left the parlor.
The music playing on the stereo was as soothing as a Brahms lullaby, Sierra thought crossly. Maybe it was Brahms. The choice would have been on a par with the rest of York’s behavior this evening. He had been just as soothing and remote. She had been conscious of the tension behind his polite mask since he had walked through the front door tonight. After dinner he had hustled her into the parlor, put the record on, and retired immediately to the library.
It shouldn’t have hurt. She had no right to be hurt, she assured herself as she took the one record off and put on Ravel’s Bolero instead. She had been spoiled these last few days when York had spent each evening with her. It had been foolish to believe he had enjoyed their time together as much as she had. Probably, he had merely been indulging her as he would a restless, fractious child. After last night he had no doubt decided they’d come too close to an unwanted intimacy and was trying to set a certain distance between them.
“What on earth has that poor machine done to you?” She turned to see Deuce standing in the doorway, a large glass of orange juice in his hand. “Judging by the scowl on your face I’d say you were about to take a hatchet to it.”
She smiled with an effort. “Destroy a state-of-the-art stero? Not likely. I’d be in debt for the next ten years if I did.” She slid the record York had chosen back into its jacket and saw it was, indeed, Brahms. “It was the music I objected to, not the equipment. York evidently decided Brahms would be just the ticket to keep me calm and complacent this evening. I’ve decided I hate Brahms.”
“I’m not overfond of him myself.” Deuce walked across the room to her. “A bit heavy for my taste.”
“Boring,” she said curtly.
“York wants you to drink this.” He held out the glass of orange juice. “I took him some coffee and he said to make sure you had your vitamin C as well as your iron tablets before you went to bed.”
So York didn’t intend to leave the library again tonight, she thought. She quickly smothered a pang of disappointment as she took the glass. “Thank you. I won’t forget, but I’m not ready to go to bed yet. I’m a little too restless to settle down for the night.”
“I noticed. Ravel instead of Brahms. Strange, York should make that selection. I had the distinct impression he, too, was more in the mood for Ravel tonight.”
“Evidently you were wrong.” She took a sip of the orange juice. “Or maybe he thinks Brahms is as therapeutic as vitamin C for pitiful little invalids like yours truly.”
“Do I detect a trace of sarcasm?”
“Sorry. I guess I’m feeling a little smothered at the moment.” She sipped some more juice, then set the glass on a table. “I’m not used to all this lolling around with no work to do. To tell you the truth, I have a bad case of cabin fever.”
“Really?” He lifted a brow. “I thought you were settling down quite nicely the last few days.”
“Appearances can deceive.” She turned to the door. “I think I’ll go for a little stroll before I turn in. I haven’t been out of the house since I’ve been ill, and I was too busy to go sight-seeing when I was with the troupe. I don’t even know what Hell’s Bluff looks like.”
“Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until daylight? You can’t see much at night.”
She shook her head. “I won’t go far.”
“All right, I’ll go with you.”
“No.” It came out sharper than she meant, and she smiled apologetically. “You’d better let me go alone. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company at the moment. My nerves are a little on edge. I won’t be gone long.”
“Whatever you say,” Deuce said, shrugging. “You’d better run upstairs and get a jacket. It may be April, but it’s still damn cold here in the mountains.”
She nodded with relief. She had thought Deuce would be more difficult to discourage. “I’ll do that, and I’ll be sure to take my pills when I get back. I’m not stupid enough to risk getting sick again. I know I’ve been enough trouble as it is.” She started across the room. “I’ll see you later, Deuce.”
He watched her as she climbed the stairs, then turned and walked quickly down the hall to the library. York looked up as the door opened.
“Orange juice delivered,” Deuce said. “And she’s promised faithfully to take her pills.” He paused. “Just as soon as she gets back.”
“Back? Where the hell is she going?”
“Just for a walk. She says she has cabin fever.”
“Go with her,” York said tersely. “You know it’s not safe for her to wander around here alone.”
“She didn’t want my company. Shall I call one of the men and tell him to follow and make sure she’s safe?”
“He’d probably scare her to death creeping along behind her. Why the devil didn’t you insist, dammit?”
“Because I knew she wouldn’t listen, and I detest useless effort,” Deuce drawled. “She’s as edgy as you are tonight and probably for the same reason.”
York gazed at him coolly. “And what is that?”
“I also detest stating the obvious, but I will in this case.” Deuce steadily returned his stare. “You need to spend an hour or two at Melanie’s. You’re horny as hell. I think you’re lusting after our little Sierra.”
“Well, that’s blunt enough,” York said dryly. He looked away. “I told you, I don’t have a thing for wide-eyed waifs.”
“But you have a thing for Sierra Smith,” Deuce said softly. “Waif or not, you have a big yen for the lady. I’ve known you long enough to realize what’s going on here. I can also see that you’re not going to do anything about it. Go to Melanie’s, York.”
York was silent as conflicting emotions battled within him. “If you remember, I went to Melanie’s every night last week. I had something of that nature in mind myself.” He suddenly sounded weary. “It didn’t do any good.”
Deuce raised a brow. “No?”
“No.” York’s laugh had an edge of frustration. “I didn’t want any of them. I had my dinner and a drink and came home.” His voice lowered. “I don’t want anyone but her. Idiotic, isn’t it?”
Deuce hesitated. “She’s a nice young woman, York. I like her.”
“So do I, dammit,” he said with a touch of leashed violence. “Why do you think I’m going through this hell? You know I’d probably make her miserable. I’d make any woman miserable.”
“Probably,” Deuce agreed.
“You’re nothing if not frank.” York’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “I can always rely on you to attest to the wickedness of my character.”
“You know better than that. You’re a damn fine friend, and I don’t know anyone I’d rather have in my corner.” Deuce slowly shook his head. “But, as my dear old gin-soaked mum used to say to me, ‘Yer just not steady, me lad.’ ” His expression was suddenly serious. “I think Sierra is the type of person who needs someone who’s steady as a rock. She’s had enough uncertainty in her life.”
“So what do I do? I can’t send her away, or she’ll find a way to work herself into a relapse. I can’t keep her here or—as sure as hell—we’ll end up in bed together.”
“That is a problem.” Deuce walked over to an easy chair and dropped into it with loose-boned grace. “But I wouldn’t count on the decision being entirely yours to make. Sierra has a mind of her own, and she’s not exactly predictable.” He tilted his head, listening. “I think I just heard the front door slam. Are you going after her?”
York pushed his chair back almost violently. “Hell yes, I’m going after her. With her facility for trouble she’ll probably fall down a mine shaft.” He started for the door. “Are you coming?”
Deuce shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve said my piece. I now intend to be discreet and sit back and let nature take its course. Not that it wouldn’t anyway.”
York cursed as he flung the door open.
“York, there’s something else you should know.”
York glanced over his shoulder impatiently. “What?”
“Sierra hates Brahms.”
This time the muttered imprecation was a good deal more obscene, and Deuce smiled with enjoyment as York strode out of the room.
“Wait!”
The command was so clipped and edged with irritation that Sierra stopped short. York? She turned to see him walking down the street toward her, quickly jerking on his sheepskin jacket. Her heart lifted with eagerness, then fell immediately when she saw the scowl on his face. She smiled tentatively as he came abreast of her.
“You decided you needed some air too?” she asked.
“No, I decided I didn’t want to strangle some bastard who might decide to rape you.” He grasped her elbow and began to walk, half dragging her down the street. “You wanted to sightsee? Let’s go.”
“You’re angry.” She had to hurry to keep up. “I didn’t mean for Deuce to bother you. Please go back to your work. I’ll be fine by myself.”
“This is a town with no women. Do I need to remind you of that fact? Even if you were the drab nonentity you think you are, you’d attract attention here. There are close to a thousand men in Hell’s Bluff who would like nothing better than to haul you off to bed.”
She halted abruptly and jerked her arm out of his grasp. “All right, let’s go back,” she said quietly. “You had only to tell me that. I don’t want to cause any more trouble. I know how much I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me—” He broke off as he looked down at her. Her eyes held hurt as well as the strength and dignity that was so much a part of her. He felt his anger melting away like snow in the spring as that familiar, tender yearning filled him. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m acting like an autocratic idiot. You have a perfect right to go for a walk, but this just isn’t the kind of town to take a casual stroll in. Some of these miners are steady family men. But some are rough enough not to care if you’re under my protection if they decide they want a roll in the hay.”
York, the Renegade Page 7
