Heart of Winter

by Diana Palmer

  Winthrop was telling Sadie something about a party.

  Nicole snapped back to the present. “A party?”

  “Gerald thinks you’re getting bored without some fun, buried out here in the sticks,” Winthrop told her. “He wants to give a party. There’ll be a band and all the neighbors will come. You too, Sadie. I’ll drive Mary up to sit with your mother.”

  “I haven’t been to a party in a long time,” Sadie confessed wistfully.

  “Neither have I, but I guess we’ll have to make the best of it,” Winthrop said with unflattering resignation. “It’ll be Friday night, around six. I’ll drive Mary up and fetch you.”

  “Couldn’t Gerald?” Nicole suggested.

  Winthrop openly gaped at her. “What?”

  “He’ll have to welcome his guests and so will you,” Sadie reminded Nicole.

  Nicky sighed. “I guess so.” She picked up her case, which Winthrop promptly took away from her, and followed him out to the truck with a rueful wave at Sadie.

  He got in under the wheel, threw up a hand at Sadie and reversed the pickup with deft, controlled movements. He didn’t speak until he had it headed down the long, winding road toward the ranch.

  “I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said curtly, lighting a cigarette as he drove. The wind was fierce and the truck lurched. It was getting dark against the horizon, heavy blue clouds building over the peaks.

  “It wouldn’t have looked right, to have Gerald and me under the same roof alone,” she faltered.

  He glanced at her. “Then, my God, how does it look to have the three of us under one roof?” he shot back.

  She hadn’t thought about that. She flushed scarlet and moved her gaze out the window. “How was your trip?”

  “Fine.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  She stared at her hands in her lap. She’d felt her heart soar when he walked into Sadie’s living room, but now all she felt was miserable. He’d left town because he didn’t want to take her out, and now he was as remote as the clouds. She felt abandoned.

  “Don’t look like that,” he said abruptly.

  “Like what?” she muttered.

  “Lost. Wounded.”

  She studied her hands in her lap, twisting the small emerald ring she wore on her right ring finger. “You’ve been spoiling for a fight ever since you came in the door.”

  “And you don’t know why?” he taunted, and his eyes cut at her. “Or hasn’t it occurred to you yet that I want you?”

  It had, but only in a vague way. She felt her face flush at hearing it put into words, and so bluntly. She couldn’t even look at him. She was feeling a tenderness she’d never experienced, and he’d reduced it to something casual and physical and faintly irritating.

  “That’s plain enough,” she said in a soft tone, forcing herself not to react violently when what she wanted most to do was push him out the door and down a sharp ravine.

  He wouldn’t back down, he told himself, no matter how miserable she looked. His jaw tautened as he wheeled the truck around a sharp curve, scattering dirt and gravel on the unsurfaced road.

  “You get under my skin,” he said abruptly. “I don’t like it.”

  Her heart shifted uncomfortably. She stared out at the tall trees in the graying horizon. “You have the same effect on me,” she said curtly, “and I don’t like it, either.”

  “Then suppose we keep out of each other’s way,” he suggested. “You won’t be here that much longer.”

  “That might be wise.”

  He drew on his cigarette, and then he turned and looked at her just as she lifted her eyes to his. The truck almost went off the road. He braked easily enough to stop the truck, but his gaze didn’t waver. Her eyes were greener than new leaves on spring trees, he thought absently, his own narrowing with kindling hunger. She was young and soft and sweet and she made him ache as he had in his youth, made him feel invulnerable and all male.

  Her lips parted, but she couldn’t look away. It was like holding a live wire in bare hands. Her breath shuddered out of her throat and she felt throbbing fire in her blood.

  “If I touched you now, there wouldn’t be any stopping for either of us,” he said in a deep, slow tone. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, and his eyes were narrow, dark. “You knock me off balance.”

  “You said yourself,” she whispered, trying to be rational, “that you’d been away from women for a long time.”

  “And you think it’s proximity that’s causing my reaction to you?” he asked with a mocking smile. He reached out a lean hand and idly linked her fingers into his with a caressing pressure that was as arousing as a kiss. Her heart began to race, and her breath came in smothered whispers that she tried not to let him see.

  “That,” he whispered, “is chemistry. It doesn’t have anything to do with proximity, or age, or sanity. I touch you, and my body aches. And if the way you’re breathing is any indication, Kentucky girl, you’re on fire for me.”

  She bit her lip, hard. But the tremors wouldn’t stop. She tugged her hand away from his and he released it with careless indifference and went back to smoking his cigarette.

  “Don’t worry,” he said with cool mockery, “I won’t tell your boss. I love my brother. His happiness comes first.”

  She frowned slightly. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you?” He turned back to the steering wheel and put the truck into gear without another word.

  She rode beside him in an uncomfortable silence. She wanted to tell him that he’d gotten it all wrong, that she and Gerald were only boss and secretary. But he looked too unapproachable and she wasn’t sure of him. Her feelings for Winthrop were new and a little frightening. She didn’t want to have to face them.

  When they got back to the house, he got out to carry her bag up to the front porch, all bristling masculine humor. He limped more than he usually did, too, and she wondered if it was due to his bad temper or if he was in pain from the walking he must have had to do on his trip.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so angry at me,” she murmured as she joined him on the porch. “I haven’t done anything….”

  “This is why,” he said quietly. He looked down at her from his formidable height and, aware of Mary standing just inside the door, he did something with his hands, in sign language—first a movement like someone drinking out of a cup, and then an odd movement with his elbows and closed fists. “See if you can get Mary to translate that,” he chided, turning. “And you’ll know it all.”

  She stared after him wistfully, loving the lines of his elegant body, the muscular fitness that emanated from him despite that limp. He was the most attractive man she’d ever known. And if he’d looked back, and seen her standing there watching him, it might have erased some of the ill humor from his dark face. But he went away without a backward glance and Mary seemed to vanish into thin air as Nicole went inside with her overnight case.

  “There you are,” Gerald moaned, rubbing his stomach as he appeared in the doorway of Winthrop’s study. “My ulcer is killing me. Have Mary pour me some buttermilk, will you? Then we’ve got to get some paperwork done and see if we can sort out this mix-up in taxes. Hurry, Nicky!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  She got the milk from the kitchen, curious about Mary’s oddly smug look.

  “There’s something I want to ask you.” Nicole hesitated. “Those signs Winthrop made on the front porch—you saw them. What did they mean?”

  Mary grinned, showing even white teeth. “Interesting things.”

  “What did he say?”

  Mary folded her arms over her ample bosom. “Much.”

  “Well?”

  “Hard to translate into English,” Mary continued. “Many Indian signs have no equivalent in English.”

  “Yes, but you must have some idea what he said,” Nicole persisted.

  “Good idea, all right, but I must give thoug
ht to the proper manner of expressing it to you.” Mary turned back to making a thick-crusted apple pie. “Some time soon, I will translate it for you.” Then she grinned again over her shoulder and giggled.

  Nicole, no wiser than before, sighed and carried the milk to Gerald.

  The tangle took time to straighten out, especially over the phone, and by the time it was done, Nicole was too tired to do anything except eat a light supper and go to bed. Winthrop, as usual, was out working, so she didn’t have to worry about keeping peace with him.

  During the next few days, as she helped Gerald plan the party in her honor, Nicole puzzled over Winthrop’s cool behavior and Gerald’s continued stomach pain. Gerald and Sadie had gotten off to such a great start, and now he seemed morose and moody and worried.

  Nicole had planned a menu of hors d’oeuvres and finger foods for a buffet, and arranged for a local band to play. Gerald had called the neighbors to invite them.

  “This will be fun,” he said as he finished. “There hasn’t been any music in this house since Winthrop announced his engagement.” He seemed far away for a minute and wistful. “There was music that night, and the neighbors came over, and we danced until after midnight. Mrs. Todd was fit as a fiddle back then, and she danced, too.” He glanced at Nicole from his comfortable armchair. “Winthrop hasn’t allowed music in the house since, although I can’t blame him. He won’t go near a party, either. He says he can’t dance because of his leg, but I think the memories are stopping him more than any physical pain.”

  “I guess he really loved her,” she said, remembering what little Winthrop had told her about his feelings at the time.

  “It’s been three years. He should be healing, mentally at least.”

  She didn’t like to think about Winthrop’s broken heart, or the cause of it. Her feelings were too turbulent, and jealousy was still topmost.

  “Will he even come to the party?” she asked.

  “He’ll have to,” he chuckled. “Or the neighbors will talk about him. He hates gossip more than he hates music. At least, he does since the accident. It never used to matter in the old days.”

  “We haven’t heard from Sadie lately,” she said with deliberate casualness.

  He looked uncomfortable. “Her mother hasn’t been well.”

  She studied his wan face. “Hasn’t she?”

  He shifted restlessly, crossing his legs. “She doesn’t want to lose Sadie,” he said curtly. “She’s afraid of being alone, or at the mercy of strangers in some nursing home. I can’t blame her, Nicole. It’s just that Sadie’s so young to be buried alive like that.”

  “Couldn’t Mrs. Todd get better if she had more interest in life, in living?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed. “But it’s very hard to keep that interest going. You made a good start with her. Unfortunately, she’s only enthusiastic when people are around. The minute they leave, she goes back to brooding.”

  “Doesn’t she have relatives besides Sadie?”

  “She has a sister in Florida,” he murmured. “Ten years her junior and a live wire. She wants Mrs. Todd to come and visit, but Mrs. Todd is terrified to leave here. She has some idea that she’ll die if she does. Meanwhile,” he sighed, “Sadie is trapped. She loves her mother, you know.”

  “And you love Sadie,” she said quietly.

  He started to deny it, and then he saw the gentle compassion in Nicole’s green eyes. “Yes.”

  “Give it time,” she said. “And we needn’t rush back to Chicago,” she added with a faint grin.

  “Even if that means watching Winthrop do a job on your nerves?” he probed. “Because he’s wearing them down, isn’t he?”

  “I bother him,” she said, then looked up at Gerald. “He bothers me, too.”

  “Good. You both need a little shaking up,” he said with a smile. He got to his feet, grimacing. “I need some more buttermilk.”

  “And your tablets,” she added.

  “And my tablets. But you’re good medicine, Nicky.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. And thanks for the party, too. It was a nice thought.”

  “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I think I will,” she said. She was already thinking about breezing down the staircase in a billowy white gown, dragging a black mink coat behind her, dripping diamonds so that Winthrop would fall at her feet. Of course, she didn’t have a white gown or a black mink or any diamonds. It would be the gray jersey dress and he’d be too out of humor about the whole thing to notice if she waltzed down the staircase stark naked. She sighed and went back to the typewriter.

  The night of the party, Nicole dressed carefully in the hated gray jersey and did her face with a minimum of makeup. The band, a very good country and western one, was already in full swing when she went to answer the door with Gerald.

  Winthrop came in behind Sadie, glaring at Nicole and Gerald with coal dark eyes. He was wearing a white shirt with dark slacks and a leather jacket, a creamy dress Stetson atop his neatly combed straight hair. He and Nicky had barely spoken in recent days. He’d commented that a party was just what he needed the night before his group of Eastern hunters arrived—which they were scheduled to do that Saturday. But Gerald had made soothing noises to the big man and he’d calmed down.

  But only temporarily. His eyes were already promising retribution on Nicky’s poor head.

  “Good evening, Winthrop,” she drawled softly as Gerald led Sadie off to the punch bowl, since she was the last to arrive and there were no more guests to receive.

  “Good evening, Miss White,” he replied. His dark eyes ran down her body like exploring hands, slow and very thorough. “I gather that you only brought one dress with you?”

  “I didn’t think I’d need more than one,” she explained quietly. Her pale green eyes swept over his dark face and she felt tingles of pleasure from just looking at him. “It isn’t too drab, is it?”

  “You know you look lovely in anything you wear,” he said suavely. He took off his Stetson, settled it on the hat rack, then hung up his jacket.

  Watching the muscles ripple under the white shirt he wore with a blue patterned tie, Nicole wanted to stand in his arms and feel him holding her. It was a hunger that bordered on obsession. She moved closer to him as the band swung into a slow dance tune.

  “I want to dance,” she said quietly, aware of the guests watching them. Nobody was dancing yet; everybody seemed to be waiting for someone else to get things started.

  He stared her down. “I don’t dance anymore,” he said coolly. “I can’t. My leg won’t hold me up under sudden turns and dips.”

  “It would if you danced slowly,” she said. She moved even closer, her perfume floating up into his nostrils, her warmth teasing, seductive. “Hold me, Winthrop,” she whispered, laying both palms slowly, hesitantly, flat down over the hard muscles of his chest.

  He shuddered a little, and his chiseled lips parted. “I won’t, damn it,” he bit off.

  She laid her head against his shoulder. “You want to,” she whispered, “and I want to. Everybody’s watching.” Her own forwardness was beginning to embarrass her, but the need to be held by him was so strong that she fought down the urge to give in.

  “No!” he bit off.

  He started to turn, but she blocked his path. Everyone stopped talking, and she held her breath while he decided.

  With a glance behind them and a muffled curse, he pulled her into his hard embrace and began to move very carefully to the slow rhythm of the music.

  Gerald and Sadie watched the tall man’s slow, hesitant movements with quiet smiles, amazed that Nicole had been able to manage such a small miracle. Winthrop was giving in, at least for the moment. His dark face was threatening, but he was holding her with such tenderness that it was almost tangible despite his temper.

  Nicky savored her small victory, closing her eyes in wonder. Dancing with him was as sweet as she’d imagined it would be. He might hate her for it, but right now it seemed worth ev
ery expected bit of pain. He was tall and strong and warm, and he smelled of spice and soap. The lean, sure hand that held her made her feel safe and protected. She sighed with pure delight.

  He felt that soft yielding and was furious at her for making a spectacle of him, for drawing everyone’s eyes to his disability. Damn her, what was she trying to do to him?

  He gave in with ill-concealed irritation and drew her slowly against him, one lean hand possessing hers. He began to move to the rhythm, a little clumsily at first, but quickly with more and more confidence. She melted into him, then, careful not to knock him off balance, she smiled against his shoulder.

  “There,” she mumbled happily, “I knew you could.”

  “I could wring your neck,” he said, forcing himself to smile at her while all around them other people were finally joining them on the dance floor.

  “It’s your house,” she reminded him. “The host is supposed to open the dancing. There are rules about that kind of thing.”

  “I can’t dance with this leg,” he said through his teeth.

  “You’re doing it, aren’t you?” She drew back a little and looked up into his darkly glittering eyes. “But if you’re sure you can’t do it, then why don’t you fall on the floor or something?”

  “Lady,” he breathed through his teeth, “you’re brave in company.”

  “If we were alone, what would you do to me?” she asked with open curiosity, her green eyes wide and twinkling.

  The look in them softened him, just a little. She was a handful, but her heart was in the right place. She wouldn’t let him feel sorry for himself, or slide into thinking he had to give up living because he had a bum leg. And until now, he hadn’t even realized how much he’d used that leg to keep him away from people. It had become his excuse for being a recluse, his excuse for avoiding involvement.

  His fingers edged between hers and caressed them as he turned her with amazing flexibility. He smiled then, the cold anger in his eyes melting into reluctant pleasure.