Heart of Winter

by Diana Palmer

  Minutes later, guided by patient, expert lean hands, hind fetlocks appeared suddenly, followed rapidly by the rest of the newborn animal. Winthrop laughed softly, triumphantly, as the tiny new life slid into the hay and he cleared its nostrils.

  “A colt,” he announced.

  Nicole smiled at him over the mare, amazed to find genuine warmth in his dark eyes. “And a very healthy one, too,” she agreed. Her eyes searched his softly, and then she felt herself beginning to tremble at the intensity of his level gaze. She drew her gaze away and stroked the mare again before she got slowly to her feet so that the new mother could lick her colt and nuzzle it.

  “A thoroughbred, isn’t he?” she replied absently, her eyes on the slick colt being lovingly washed by his mother. “The stallion has a superior conformation. So does the mare. He might be a champion.”

  “The stallion is by Calhammond, out of Dame Savoy,” he said, frowning as he moved away to wash his hands and arms in a bucket of water with a bar of soap, drying them on a towel that hung over it. “How did you know?”

  “Kentucky is racehorse country,” she laughed, sidestepping the question. She didn’t want to tell him how much she knew about thoroughbreds, although she’d certainly given herself away just now, and she’d have to soft-pedal over it. “I cut my teeth on thoroughbreds. I used to beg for work around them, and one of the trainers took pity on me. He taught me a lot about them. You see, one of the biggest racing farms in Lexington was near where I lived—Rockhampton Farms.” Actually Rockhampton was her grandfather’s name; her mother’s people had owned the stables there for three generations. But it wouldn’t do to admit that to Winthrop, because he’d connect it with Dominic White, who was her father and the current owner. He might even know Dominic, because he entertained sportsmen, and her father was one of the best.

  “I’ve heard of it,” Winthrop told her after a minute. He turned, staring hard at her with dark, curious eyes as he rolled down the sleeves of his brown Western shirt and buttoned the cuffs with lazy elegance. White. Her name was White. Wasn’t that the name of that jet-setting sportsman from Kentucky who was coming with the Eastern hunting party? Yes, by God it was, and Dominic White owned Rockhampton Farms. He lifted his head. “The owner of Rockhampton is a White,” he said in a direct attack, watching closely for reaction. “Any kin of yours?”

  She held onto her wits with a steely hand. She even smiled. “White is a pretty common name, I’m afraid,” she said. “Do I look like an heiress?”

  “You don’t dress like one,” he commented, with narrowed eyes. “And I guess you wouldn’t be working for Gerald if you had that kind of money,” he said finally, relaxing a little. He didn’t want her, but it was a relief all the same to know that she wasn’t some bored little rich girl looking for a good time. He couldn’t have borne going through that again. “I’ve been to Kentucky, but I’ve never been on the White place. My stallion and mare came from the O’Hara place.”

  “Yes, Meadowbrook Farms,” she murmured. She could have fainted with relief. She didn’t want him to know about her background. Of course, there was always the danger that he might someday find out that she was one of those Whites, but with any luck she’d be back in Chicago before he did, and it wouldn’t matter anymore. Right now, the important thing was to get her boss well and not upset him with any confrontations between herself and Winthrop.

  Winthrop had every reason to hate rich society girls, and he might be tempted to make her life hell if he knew the truth. And probably it would be worse because she hadn’t told him about it in the beginning. Her character would be even blacker in his eyes for the subterfuge. For one wild instant, she considered telling him. But she knew she couldn’t. He disliked her enough already. And it was suddenly important, somehow, to keep him from finding new reasons to dislike her. It did occur to her that someday he might hate her for not being truthful with him. But she’d discovered a tender streak in his turbulent nature while he was working with the mare, and she wanted to learn more about that shadowy side of him. That might not be possible if he knew the truth about her.

  “I couldn’t have managed that alone,” he said quietly, watching her. “I’m obliged for the help.”

  “I like horses,” she said simply. “And he’s a grand colt.”

  “His father has been a consistent winner, but he was hurt in a race last year. I bought him to stand at stud rather than see him put down. I had a lot of money that was lying spare, so I developed an interest in racehorses. I’ve spent a good deal of time at racetracks in the past year.”

  Another chink in the armor, she thought, thinking about his compassion for the stallion as she looked up at him.

  He saw that speculative gleam and it irritated him. She wasn’t working out the way he’d expected. She had too many interesting qualities, and he didn’t like the feelings she aroused in him. He’d buried his emotions, and she was digging down to them with irritating ease.

  “You don’t like me, do you?” she asked bluntly. “Why? Is it because I’m plain, or because I’m only a secretary…”

  “You aren’t plain,” he said unexpectedly, his dark eyes tracing the soft oval of her face. Big green eyes. Pretty mouth. High cheekbones. Skin like satin, creamy and young. She was young. He sighed wistfully. “And I’m no snob. I just don’t want women around.”

  “That’s straightforward,” she said softly. “And I hope it won’t offend you if I speak as bluntly. I know a little about what happened to you and why. I’m very sorry. But hating me and making my life miserable for the next few weeks isn’t going to erase your scars. It will only create new ones for both of us. So can’t we be sporting enemies?” she asked, her green eyes twinkling. “And I’ll promise not to seduce you in the hay.”

  His eyebrows shot straight up. Unexpected wasn’t the word for this little firecracker. He’d have to think up a new one.

  “What do you know about seduction, Red Riding Hood?” he asked with blithe humor, and she got a tiny glimpse of the man he’d been before the accident.

  “Not much, actually,” she said pleasantly, “but that’s probably in your favor, because it will save you a lot of embarrassing moments. Just imagine if I were experienced and sophisticated and out to sink my claws into you!”

  Her earnestly teasing expression made him feel as if he were sipping potent wine. He had a hard time drawing his eyes away from her soft mouth and back up to her laughing eyes. Incredibly long lashes, on those eyes. Sexy. Like the rest of her. She was tall, but she wasn’t overly thin. He liked the way she looked in tailored slacks and that white sweater. Both were thick with horsehair about now, and she’d smell of horse….

  “She’ll want some water now,” she reminded him, unnerved by that slow, bold scrutiny and hoping that it didn’t show.

  It did. His chin lifted just a little, in a purely male way, and his chiseled mouth twitched. “Nervous of me?”

  “If all the gossip I’ve heard about you is true, I have good reason to be, and that isn’t conceit on my part,” she added proudly. “Playboys don’t usually mind who they charm, because it’s all a game to them.”

  The light in his eyes went out, like a cavern succumbing to darkness. “I don’t play games with virgins, honey,” he said unexpectedly, catching her chin with a lean, steely hand. “And you’d better remember it. I’ve forgotten more about lovemaking in my time than you’ve ever learned, but I’m not low enough to take out my hurt on you.”

  He was so close that she could feel the strong warmth of him. Her heart ran wild. She’d never had such a powerful, immediate reaction to a man before. Not even to Chase. This was new and wildly exciting, and she wanted more.

  “How do you know that…about me?” she whispered, shocked that he could so easily discuss the most intimate subjects.

  “I don’t know,” he replied quietly, searching her soft eyes. His blood warmed in his veins, and he felt his heartbeat slowly increase. Her scent was overpowering, drowning him, seducing his
senses. He knew a lot about her, knowledge that only instinct could have supplied.

  Her lips parted on a rush of breath. The dimness of the barn was warm and cozy, shutting them away from the world. Winthrop was closer than ever, towering over her, drowning her in a narcotic kind of hunger.

  She took an involuntary step toward him. “I…don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice shaking. One slender hand went hesitantly to his chest and pressed against it, feeling the shock of warm muscle and a spongy wiriness that might have been hair underneath. She felt him tense, even before his hand came up to remove hers with abrupt impatience.

  “Don’t do that,” he ground out, glaring at her. “I don’t want your hands on me.”

  Her own forwardness shocked her more than his irritable statement. She turned away, feeling a rush of tears that she couldn’t let him see.

  “I’d better get back to the house,” she said quickly. “Your brother was going to make a phone call and then finish his dictation. I’m glad the mare’s okay.” She said it all in a mad rush and threw a vague smile in his direction before she went out of the barn as if her shoes were on fire.

  He watched her go with mingled emotions. Anger. Irritation. Hunger. Frustration. He couldn’t sort them out, so he didn’t bother. He went back to feed and water the mare and see about the colt. Damn women everywhere, he thought, and limped more than usual as he went about his business.

  Nicole made a point of avoiding her boss’s unpredictable brother for the rest of the day. But there was no getting away from him at the supper table, and she had to fight not to look at him.

  Cleaned up and freshly shaved, wearing a white shirt that suited his darkness, he would have drawn any woman’s eyes. It was easy to see how he’d appealed to women when he was younger. He was still a striking man, and it wasn’t just his looks. There was an indefinable something about him, a vibrant masculinity that was almost tangible and certainly overpowering at close range. Her hands trembled just sitting next to him at the long table.

  Gerald was quoting figures on some real estate he’d acquired, and Winthrop was listening with barely half his mind. He was watching Nicky while he pared his steak and chewed it deliberately, trying not to let her know that he was watching her. She was wearing that gray jersey dress that clung so lovingly to her curves, and the memory of the effect she’d had on him in the barn wasn’t doing his appetite any good.

  He finally grew impatient with her downbent head and stopped eating and just stared at her intently while Gerald went on talking without realizing that he was talking to himself.

  Nicole felt that intent stare and looked up into Winthrop’s dark eyes. And her heart stopped beating.

  Electricity danced between them. She couldn’t drag her eyes from his, any more than his were willing to be tugged away. The look they exchanged was long and piercing and shattering in its intensity. It was as personal as a kiss, so steady and unblinking that she felt her body tremble in intimate response to his blatant interest.

  His gaze held hers for a shuddering moment, and then it dropped to her mouth, and she felt her lips part helplessly for him.

  “Winthrop, are you listening?” Gerald asked suddenly, breaking the silence when he discovered that his brother was apparently staring into space.

  “What?” Winthrop turned back to him. “Something about real estate values?” he asked absently. He didn’t like the way his body responded to that look in Nicole’s eyes. He was going to have to do something. But what?

  Nicole was having as difficult a time with her own body. She shifted restlessly and drank coffee that was, by now, hopelessly oversugared. While Winthrop’s dark eyes had been openly making love to hers, she’d put six spoons of sugar in the black liquid. She took a sip and shuddered and left it in favor of the glass of water Mary had provided for each of them. So much for common sense. It was time to retreat.

  For the next few days, she and Winthrop avoided each other—ignored each other—to the extent that everybody noticed, and Mary began asking gentle questions that Nicole smiled at and avoided answering. And that might have gone on for another week if she hadn’t tripped on the steps coming in from a walk late one afternoon, to be caught by Winthrop in the gathering darkness.

  He’d apparently just come in from the corral himself. He smelled of cattle and he needed a shave, but his arms in the sheepskin jacket felt strong and warm, and instead of pulling away like a sensible girl, Nicole had sighed and relaxed against his tall, strong body.

  Winthrop muttered something, but he didn’t push her away. His hard arms contracted, drawing her against him under the unbuttoned jacket, and he stood holding her in the dusky light, savoring her softness, his cheek against her dark hair.

  It seemed so natural, somehow. So right. His eyes closed and all the reasons why he shouldn’t allow her this close vanished. He didn’t make a sound, and neither did she. The wind sang through the tall lodgepole pines, whispered through the aspen and maples, whipped her hair against her flushed cheek. She pressed closer with a tiny, inarticulate sound, too hungry for the contact to listen to the warning bells going off in her head. He was warm and strong, and it was sheer delight to be held by him. She felt her body tremble with exquisite pleasure.

  “We could hurt each other badly,” he whispered in her ear, his voice deep and soft and slow. “You don’t have the experience to understand the risk, and I can’t be sure that I wouldn’t take out old hurts on you, even though I wouldn’t do it consciously. This is crazy.”

  “Yes.”

  He nuzzled his cheek against her hair. “I mean it, Nicky.”

  She sighed, reluctantly drawing away from him. She looked up, curious, excited. “Afraid of me, cattle baron?” she asked softly.

  “In a way,” he agreed unexpectedly, but he wasn’t smiling. He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers in a soft caress. “I don’t like to start things I can’t finish.”

  “Meaning?” she persisted. If it was digging her own emotional grave, she couldn’t help it. She had to know.

  He stared into her eyes for just a second, and then drew back, physically and emotionally. “You’ll figure it out. Don’t wander out of the yard when you go walking. One of the men thinks he spotted a wolf today. I don’t want anything to happen to you, little Eastern girl. I may never be your lover, but I’ll take care of you, all the same, while you’re here.”

  And with that surprising statement, he turned and walked off. Nicole stared after him with eyes that brimmed with unshed tears. He was very protective of her, and she wondered if he realized it. He wasn’t saying what he felt, but she knew instinctively that he shared some of the warm feeling that was growing inside her. But whether he’d ever give in to it was anyone’s guess. As for Nicole, it had shocked her to realize that she had none of her usual defenses when he was near her. And that realization kept her quiet all through supper and beyond bedtime. What an unexpectedly complicated thing this vacation of her boss’s had become. She hoped that she was going to be able to cope with the new and disturbing feelings that Winthrop had unearthed in her.

  Life sailed into a pleasant routine after that. She and Gerald settled down to work, and Nicole spent her free time exploring outdoors or watching Mary in the kitchen. Winthrop was pleasant enough, but he kept things cool, although from time to time she found those dark, quiet eyes watching her in a way that excited her beyond bearing.

  Two days later, she heard cattle bawling and excited male voices, and she succumbed to the need to see Winthrop. The cattle were massed at a makeshift corral just away from the barn and the stables, and Winthrop was on his horse, helping to drive cattle into a holding pen where they were apparently being vetted and vaccinated and examined and treated for diseases or infestation by grubs.

  That weak leg didn’t seem to bother the big man one bit on horseback. He could cut and rope with the best of them, and the wilder the horse, the better he seemed to enjoy himself. He laughed deeply and with obvious pleasure t
he whole time. She imagined that when he was in the saddle he could forget how ungraceful he was on the ground.

  Not that a limp made him any less a man. He bristled with masculine sensuality. She could see quite easily how he’d gained a reputation in his youth as a playboy. He was devastating physically, and he had a voice that even in memory could make her flush with pleasure. Her heart hadn’t been the same since that unexpected embrace on the porch. She could close her eyes and hear his voice all over again, as it had been that evening, and she could almost imagine it in a dark room, coaxing, deliberately seductive….

  Warmth coursed through her and she forced herself to watch the men and the cattle. Winthrop had climbed off the horse to help catch a calf, apparently one that needed doctoring. He looped his rope and undid it, lazily coiling it while one of the other cowboys threw the calf and began to do something to it. Winthrop was rubbing his leg, and the limp was even more pronounced when he turned, leading his horse by the reins.

  He saw Nicole at the fence, and he stood very still for an instant. She could feel his anger even at the distance, and made a discreet and quick withdrawal. He was headed in her direction, so she changed it and walked quickly into the forest that encircled the house.

  Why she should have been embarrassed, she didn’t know. But she knew he was angry, even before he caught up with her minutes later.

  She stopped, catching her breath. He was right behind her, still leading the horse. As he walked, he favored that right leg.

  “Running away?” he taunted. “Why?”

  She stared at him. It was silly to be so ill at ease with him, but his expression wasn’t at all welcoming. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved yellow sweater. He had on a shirt the same shade of yellow and brown as his jeans, and she thought illogically how well they matched.

  He lifted his dark head. “Don’t you? What are you doing—spying? Did you want to see if the cripple could still throw a calf?”