Kathleen shook her head. “Mr. York understood death. No one could have understood it better. He lived with it at his elbow every day. You could see him try to forget it and push it away, but something was always there to remind him.” She pointed the feather duster at the clock on the mantel. “Did you notice how quiet this clock is? No gong to strike the hour, and the ticking is so soft, it would take a stethoscope to hear it. Every clock in the house is like that. Ever since he was a lad, he’s hated the sound of a ticking clock.” Her blue eyes were no longer bright but far away. “There’s a clock at Killara that’s a family heirloom; old Shamus brought it with him from Ireland. The ticking of that clock could be heard clear out in the hall. Mr. York couldn’t stand that clock. He never said anything to anyone, but sometimes I’d see him standing there looking at it with his hands clenched at his sides as if every tick were a blow striking at him. It nearly broke my heart.”
It would have broken her heart as well, Sierra knew. Just to picture the beautiful vulnerable child who had been York, standing there tortured and tormented by a fate he had no ability to change was enough to cause the tears to brim in her eyes. “I think I would have smashed the damn thing into a million pieces if I’d been he.”
Kathleen turned away and began busily dusting the desk. “Strange that you say that. Someone did knock the clock off the mantel. It broke and never did work right after that happened.”
“York?”
“None of the boys would confess who did it, so their mother punished all three of them.” Kathleen looked up. “But not at all harshly. She was a very wise woman, that Mrs. Delaney.”
Hot lemon juice and Rising Star’s turquoise necklace, Sierra thought. “I only wish I could have known her. She must have been very special.”
“That she was,” Kathleen said softly. “I was only fifteen when I first came to Killara from Ireland. I was frightened and clumsy and so lonely, I would howl like a banshee in my bed at night. My sister, Bridget, was always the clever one, and I knew I could never measure up to her. Yet Mrs. Delaney never made me feel she thought less of me than she did of Bridget. I found a home with them, and her sons were my sons.”
“A place,” Sierra murmured. “You found your place in life.”
“Yes, I found my place.” Kathleen nodded vigorously. “I know I’ll never be Bridget, but maybe I have qualities she’ll never have either.”
“I’m sure you have.” Sierra walked across the room to Kathleen. “I think you may be a very special person too.” She brushed her lips across Kathleen’s plump cheek. “And I’m happy you’ve found your place. You’re very lucky.”
“I know that.” Kathleen cleared her throat, then added gruffly, “Now that I’m finished in here, I’ll get your breakfast. Come along to the kitchen.”
Oh, dear. “I’m not very hungry, Kathleen.” Sierra tried desperately to think of an excuse. “I thought I’d wait for lunch.”
“Three meals a day.” Kathleen took her by the arm and propelled her briskly toward the door. “No skipping breakfast for you, Miss Sierra. How do you expect to get well so that Mr. York can—” She stopped abruptly. “You need your strength.”
Yes, she did, Sierra thought. It had become increasingly apparent to her that her stay at Hell’s Bluff must end soon. She was going to need every bit of strength she could command, but she wasn’t going to find it in one of Kathleen’s ghastly gastronomical efforts. Yet how could she chance hurting the other woman? She sighed. “All right. I’ll have breakfast.”
Kathleen’s beaming smile was almost worth the concession. Sierra tucked her arm in Kathleen’s as they left the library. “But let me make the coffee,” Sierra said. Maybe if she brewed it strong enough, it would numb her taste buds. “You do entirely too much around here as it is. Let me hel—” She broke off as Kathleen gasped with surprise. She followed the housekeeper’s astonished gaze and saw York.
“I was hoping I could sneak in and get upstairs before you saw me,” he said. He closed the front door behind him. “I tried to clean up a little over at Rafe’s place, but I’m still not exactly presentable.”
That was a gross understatement. His jeans were smoke-blackened and grass-stained, and the left sleeve of his khaki shirt had been torn away to accommodate a white bandage wrapped around his upper arm.
“Glory be.” Kathleen shook her head in-wonder. “You look like you’ve been fighting a grizzly. What’s wrong with your arm?”
“Nothing much.” York didn’t meet her eyes. “I hurt it a little. Rafe’s vet cleaned it up and slapped a bandage on me.”
Kathleen snorted. “A fine thing. What does a veterinarian know about treating burns? I’m surprised he didn’t rub you with horse liniment. You just go into the kitchen and sit down. I have some salve upstairs in my first-aid kit that will fix you up right as rain.” She started up the stairs. “Miss Sierra, you get him a shot of brandy while I go fetch my tube of salve.”
“Kathleen …” York hesitated. He finally released his breath in a tiny explosion of sound. “The salve won’t do any good. It’s not a burn.”
Sierra’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “But the fire? You said.…”
“There was a fire, a damn bad one.” York’s lips tightened. “But for a while the fire was the least of our worries.” He gestured to the bandage. “This is a gunshot wound.”
“Gunshot?” Sierra’s eyes widened in horror. “You were shot?”
He nodded, his smile slightly lopsided. “I managed to get in the way of a bullet during a sniper attack. Rafe and Burke came out of it without a scratch.”
“Thank the Lord,” Kathleen said with heartfelt relief. “What happened? Did they catch him?”
York shook his head. “Not yet. He got away clean.”
“A sniper,” Sierra repeated dazedly. “Someone just tried to murder you. How can you be so calm about it?”
“I’m not calm; I’m mad as hell. But this isn’t the first time the Delaneys have been under attack. It goes with the territory. We control a good-sized empire, and it’s impossible to deal with thousands of people and their livelihoods without stepping on a few toes along the way. We’ve grown accustomed to taking a bit of flak. That’s why we employ a security force.”
“You’re accustomed to bullets? That sniper could have killed you.”
“He didn’t. I told you, I just got in the way. It was pretty clear Burke was the target this time.”
“This time.” Next time it could be York. The thought made Sierra shiver with panic. What if he was wrong? What if the killer came after him again and—
“You should see a doctor,” Kathleen said. “A gunshot wound is nothing to sneeze at.”
“It’s only a graze. A doctor would have to file a report, and the media would love to get hold of a juicy item like this and blow it out of all proportion. We’ll take care of it ourselves. Burke’s going to tell Cougar to increase security at every base of operation.”
“Cougar?” Sierra asked.
“Cougar Jones is in charge of all Delaney security.” York smiled faintly. “He’s quite extraordinary. You’ll find out that he’s a very interesting man.”
“Well, if you won’t have the doctor, I’m still going to take a look at the wound.” Kathleen started up the stairs again. “It’s not fitting for a Delaney to be treated by a veterinarian. There’s no telling what concoction the man put on you.”
York opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. It never did any good to argue when Kathleen’s maternal instincts were aroused. He watched her until she reached the top of the stairs and disappeared down the hall. “I think she equates veterinarians with witch doctors,” he said. “Do you suppose I’m—” He broke off. “Good Lord, you’re white as a sheet. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. What could possibly be wrong?” Her voice was on the edge of splintering. She lifted a trembling hand to her throat. It was tight. She couldn’t swallow. “You almost got yourself killed. It would be stupid to get upse
t about …” The tears were trickling helplessly down her cheeks. “Why should I …”
“Sierra.” York’s voice was aching with tenderness. “Don’t. Please. You’re breaking my heart.”
“Am I?” She wished she were convinced she had the capability of breaking York Delaney’s heart. In the past few days her conviction that he loved her had weakened drastically. “You mustn’t pay any attention to me. It’s this damn waif’s face of mine. It’ll get you every time.”
He crossed the few feet separating them. “I have to pay attention to you.” His hand feathered her cheek in the gentlest of caresses. “I don’t seem to be able to pay attention to anything else these days.”
“Me too.” She nestled her cheek into his palm. He smelled of smoke and horse and sweat, but she didn’t care. She wished she could stand there forever and let his scent and warmth and vitality surround her with its force. It seemed a thousand years since he had touched her with this loving tenderness. “Please don’t get hurt again.” She closed her eyes. “I couldn’t stand it, York.”
He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was unsteady. “Don’t care so much, Sierra. I’m not worth it.”
“I can’t help it.” Her lashes lifted to reveal eyes jewel-bright with tears. “I don’t know any other way. I do care.” Her voice suddenly vibrated with intensity. “I care, York, and I’ll be damned if I’ll be ashamed of it.” She inhaled a quivering breath and took a step back. “It’s a pretty wonderful gift I’m giving you and you’re a fool to turn me down. I could make you so happy.” She turned and began to climb the steps. “But not if you’re stupid enough to get yourself killed. Take care of yourself, blast it.” She passed Kathleen coming down the stairs. “I think you’re wrong, Kathleen. It’s entirely fitting for someone with the brains of a bird and the stubborness of a mule to be treated by a vet.”
Katheleen gave her a glance of shocked reproof. “Really, Miss Sierra, the boy is—”
“An idiot,” Sierra finished. A few seconds later the door of her bedroom slammed shut behind her.
“Here’s a letter for you,” Deuce said to Sierra as he strolled into the parlor. “It arrived at the mine office in the first mail this morning, so I thought I’d bring it right up.” He handed her a gaudy red, white, and blue envelope. “I wasn’t sure whether to deliver it or salute it.”
Sierra smiled as she took the letter. “It has to be from Chester Brady. He told me once that everyone should write letters on patriotic stationery. According to him, it has a psychological effect on the recipients and tends to influence them in your favor. He always used this particular stationery on bill collectors.”
“It sounds like him.” Deuce watched her open the envelope and scan the letter quickly. “Do I gather he’s trying to influence you as well?”
She nodded. “He says they need me. He’s enclosed a list of their stops for the next four weeks.”
Deuce grimaced. “Something tells me I shouldn’t have delivered that letter. York is going to be most displeased with me.”
“Is he?” It had been over a week since York had returned from Rafe’s horse ranch, and the situation between her and him was growing worse with every passing day. She hadn’t seen him over a half dozen times, and those had been fraught with such pain, it was becoming intolerable. “Perhaps you’re mistaken. I just don’t know anymore.”
“Well, I do. York will go wild if he finds out you’re planning on going back to Brady’s glorified slave labor camp.” Deuce paused. “And you’re thinking of doing just that, aren’t you?”
“It’s very tempting. Chester said the magic phrase. He needs me. Heaven knows, no one around here does.” She looked up at Deuce. “Do me a favor and don’t tell York I received this letter.”
He slowly shook his head. “I can’t do that, Sierra. I’m not known for my loyalty, but what there is belongs to York. When the chips are down that’s the way it has to be. I will make a bargain with you though. Why don’t you think about this? York’s leaving in about thirty minutes for a board meeting in Tucson. If you’ll promise not to take off while he’s gone and give him a chance to persuade you to his way of thinking, I’ll hold off a bit on telling him about Chester’s bid. Deal?”
She was tempted not to agree. It would have been so much easier to leave while York was away. However, the determination in Deuce’s expression convinced her she had little choice. If she didn’t agree, he would inform York about the letter at once, and she didn’t think she could stand the explosion bound to follow. She needed time to marshal both strength and willpower. “Deal.”
“Fine.” Deuce smiled, and for an instant she saw a glimmer of affection in his face. “You won’t be sorry. Second thoughts are nearly impossible to accept, but we have to do it at times.”
She became very still. There was something important in what he had just said. The words were striking a note deep in her memory, like a bell ringing faintly in the distance. What was it?
She couldn’t quite grasp what that beckoning memory was trying to tell her. Oh, well, it was probably nothing; she was so desperate, her imagination was probably playing tricks. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, “but I wouldn’t count on the delay being of any benefit in this case.”
He gazed at her in surprise. “But I always count on whatever I wish to happen. One only has to manipulate events as one does a deck of cards, with the most exquisite deftness and an occasional bit of sleight of hand.”
She shook her head. “More than occasional, I would imagine. Is York leaving for the heliport from the office?”
“No, he’s upstairs changing. Burke prefers the family to present a businesslike image at the board meetings. Since they take place only four times a year, York usually goes along with him.” He studied her for a moment, his expression troubled. “I think I’ll run along to the kitchen and ask Kathleen for a cup of coffee. Why don’t you catch York before he leaves and tell him good-bye?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but quickly left the parlor.
Lord, she thought, Deuce must be feeling self-sacrificing to brave Kathleen’s coffee in order to give her the privacy he thought she needed with York. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to see York before he left. What good would it do? Still, when she heard his footsteps on the stairs, she hurried out into the hall.
She had never seen York dressed in anything but jeans and a casual shirt. His black business suit was faultlessly tailored and formed an elegant contrast to his crisp white shirt and discreetly patterned gray tie. She felt as if she were confronting a stranger.
The look he gave her as he reached the bottom of the stairs was also a stranger’s—guarded and remote and wary. “Hello,” he said. “I thought you were in the kitchen with Kathleen.”
“No.” There didn’t seem anything else to say. She felt awkward and tongue-tied. How could she love this stranger? Yet she did, and she could feel the pain begin to shimmer in waves around her. “I’m right here.” What a stupid thing to say. She moistened her lips. “I mean, I thought I’d say good-bye. Deuce said you were going into Tucson. Are you spending the night?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. The meeting usually lasts only a few hours, but I may decide to stay at the penthouse for a day or two. I need a change of scene.” He met her eyes. “I told you I was like that.”
“Warned is the word.” Her voice was brittle. “Yes, I remember your warning. I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.” Every touch, every variation of tone and expression, Sierra thought. She knew now she’d be tormented by those memories for the rest of her life.
There was a glint of pain in York’s eyes before he quickly looked away. “I have to leave. I told them to have the helicopter revved up and waiting for me. I’ll see you when I get back.” He nodded jerkily and strode toward the front door.
“York.”
He glanced back over his shoulder.
“Be careful. I’ve noticed whenever the three Delaneys get together, there appear to be firew
orks.”
“Don’t worry. There’s been no sign of that crazy sniper since the fire at Shamrock. Good-bye, Sierra.”
He was leaving her. He was walking out of the front door and leaving her. Suddenly the intimidation and uncertainty binding her was blown away by a frustration that had been simmering far too long. She exploded with a fury that sent the blood pounding wildly through her veins.
She ran out the front door. York was already on the red brick path leading to the driveway. “You stop right there,” she yelled. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides and her voice was shaking. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare walk away from me. This is all crazy. I can’t stand it any longer.”
He halted and turned to face her. “Sierra …”
“Don’t you Sierra me.” Her eyes were blazing in her white face. “What’s so damn difficult about all this? I love you and I think you love me too.”
“Sierra, that’s not the question.” His voice was infinitely weary. “It’s whether I—”
“Don’t pussyfoot around. Say it, dammit. Say you love me.”
Suddenly his eyes were blazing too. “All right, I love you.” He strode back up the walk and took the porch steps two at a time. “I love you so much I can’t eat or sleep. I love you so much, it’s tearing my guts out.” His hands were on her shoulders, jerking her to him with a roughness that was close to desperation. “Dear Lord, yes, I love you.” His kiss bruised her lips and made her head whirl. Then he was releasing her and running back down the steps. “But it doesn’t make any difference.”
Sierra stood frozen with surprise as she watched him go. Then she heard the roar of the motor and saw the Jeep backing recklessly out of the driveway. She was abruptly jarred out of her haze. She ran to the edge of the porch. “The hell it doesn’t,” she shouted after him. “Listen to me, York. It makes all the difference in the world.” The Jeep was already halfway down the block and, if he heard her, he didn’t respond. In another moment he was out of sight.
She was breathing hard and felt gloriously, wonderfully alive. After two weeks of hopelessness, at last she had something she could grasp and hold. As long as York loved her, she had a fighting chance, and until this minute she hadn’t been sure he did care for her. She was too accustomed to dreams that hadn’t come true to believe this most important one of her life had a chance of becoming a reality. Now she knew he did love her. They had a chance, and she’d be damned if she’d let it slip away. Canopy beds were one thing; York Delaney was something else entirely.
York, the Renegade Page 15
