Later, Melly went into the bedroom with Abby. They sat on the old bed that had been Abby's from girlhood and went over the wedding dress pattern.
"It's just magnificent," Melly breathed. "But it will take forever for you to make it...."
"A week, in my spare time." Abby grinned. "Do you really like it?"
"I love it!" She traced the design with a caressing finger. "It's the best design I've ever seen. You ought to sell it."
"Sell your wedding gown?" Abby exclaimed. "Do I look like I have a cash register for a heart?"
"Don't be silly. You know very well what I mean. It's good, Abby. It's really good. You're wasted showing other people's designs."
"Thank you for thinking so," Abby said with a smile.
"I'm not the only one, either. Did Jessica Dane ever get in touch with you?" Melly asked. "She absolutely raved over that dress you made me last summer."
"The boutique owner?" Abby asked. "No. Actually, I was kind of hoping she might. I do love designing, Melly. I feel as if modeling is burning me up. I stay tired all the time, and I have no social life at all. The money's nice," she added quietly. "But money isn't worth much in the long run if you aren't happy. And I'm not."
"Will you mind if I tell you that I never thought you would be?" her sister asked softly. She smiled. "You pretended it was what you wanted, but I saw right through you."
Abby stared at her ringless hands. "I hope nobody else did," she said.
"He's thirty-six now," Melly reminded her. "Inevitably, he'll marry sooner or later."
Abby laughed bitterly. "Will he? He hasn't exactly been in a flaming hurry to commit himself to anybody. You know what he used to say about marriage? That it was a noose only a fool stuck his head into."
"He's a lonely man, Abby," came the surprising reply. "I know better than anybody—I work for him. I see him every day. He works himself into the ground, but there are still evenings when he sits on the porch by himself and just stares off into the horizon."
That hurt. Abby turned her face away to keep Melly from seeing how much. "He could have any woman he wanted," she said, forcing herself not to let her voice show the emotion she was feeling. "He used to stay out with some woman or other every day I was here."
"So he let you think," Melly murmured. "He runs three ranches—a corporation the size of a small city—and in his spare time he sleeps. When does he have the time to be a playboy? I'll grant you, he's got the money to be one, even if he weren't so good-looking. But he's a puritan in his outlook. It even makes him uncomfortable when Jerry kisses me in front of him."
"Just like Donavan," she agreed, remembering Cade's father. "Remember the night you were kissing Danny Johnson on our front porch and Donavan rode by with Cade? Whew! I didn't think Danny would ever come back again after that lecture."
“Neither did I. Donavan had an overdeveloped sense of propriety. No wonder Cade's got so many inhibitions. Of course, being brought up in a small place like Cheyenne Lodge..."
"Only you could call Montana a small place," Abby teased.
"This little teeny corner of it, I meant," came the irrepressible reply. “I’ll bet you get culture shock every time you come here from New York," she added.
"No," Abby denied. Her eyes began to glow softly. "It's like homecoming every time. I never realize how much I miss it until I come back."
"And stand at the window, hoping for a glimpse of Cade," Melly said quietly, nodding when Abby flushed. "Oh, yes, I've caught you at it. You watch him with such love in your eyes, Abby. As if the sight of him would sustain you through any nightmare."
Abby turned away. "Stop that. I'll wear my heart out on him, and you know it. No," she said firmly when Melly started to speak. "No more. Melly, you do love Jerry, don't you?" she added, concern replacing the brief flare-up of irritation.
"Unbearably," Melly confessed. "We fought like animals the first few weeks I worked here, when I came home from business college. But then, one day he threw me down in the hay and fell on me," she added with a grin. "And we kissed like two starving lovers. He asked me to marry him on the spot and I said yes without even thinking. We've had our disagreements, but there's no one I'll ever love as much."
Abby thought about being pushed down and fallen on, and she trembled with reaction. She felt herself stiffen, and Melly noticed.
"Sorry," she said quickly, touching Abby's arm. "I didn't think about how it might sound to you."
"It's just the thought of being helpless," she said in a suppressed tone. Her eyes came up. "Melly, men are so strong...you don't realize how strong until you try to get away and can't!"
"Don't think about it," Melly said softly. "Come on, we've got to decide on the trimmings for this dress. Calla has a bag full of material samples she got from the fabric shop. We'll look through them, and she'll go into town and get what you need tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay." Abby hugged her warmly. "I love you," she said in a rare outburst of emotion.
"I love you, too," Melly returned, smiling as she drew away. "Now, here, this is what I liked especially...." She pulled out a swatch of material and the girls drifted into a discussion of fabrics that lasted until bedtime.
Abby spent the next few days reacquainting herself with the ranch. She was careful to keep out of the way of the men—and Cade—but she trudged through the barns looking at calves and sat on the bales of hay in the loft and remembered back to her childhood on her family's ranch. It was part of Painted Ridge now, having been bought by Cade at Jesse Shane's death. It would have gone on the auction block otherwise, because neither Melly nor Abby had any desire to try to run it. Ranching was a full-time headache, best left to experts.
When the snow melted and the weather turned springlike again, Abby wandered through the gates up to a grassy hill where a small stand of pines stood guard, and settled herself under one of the towering giants. It was good to breathe clean air, to sit and soak in the cool, green peace and untouched beauty of this land.
Where else were there still places like this, where you could look and see nothing but rolling grassy hills that stretched to the horizon—with tall, ragged mountains on the other side and the river that cut like a wide ribbon through it all? Cade had liked to fish in that river in the old days, when Donavan was still alive to assume some of the burden of their business. Abby went with him occasionally, watching him land big bass and crappie, rainbow trout and channel catfish.
The nice thing about Cade, she thought dreamily, was that he had such a love for the land and its protection. He was constantly investigating new ways of improving his own range, working closely with the Soil Conservation Service to protect the natural resources of his state.
Her eyes turned toward the gate as she heard a horse's hooves, and she found Cade riding up the ridge toward her on his big black gelding. He sat a horse so beautifully, reminding her of a Western movie hero. He was all muscle and grace, and she respected him more than any man she'd ever known.
He reined in when he reached her and swung one long leg around the pommel, a smoking cigarette in his lean, dark hands as he watched her from under the wide brim of his gray Stetson.
"Slumming, miss model?" he teased with a faint smile.
"This is the place for it," she said, leaning back against the tree to smile up at him. Her long, pale hair caught the breeze and curved around her flushed cheeks. "Isn't it peaceful here?" she asked. "No wonder the Indians fought so very hard to keep it."
His eyes darkened, narrowed. "A man does fight to keep the things he wants most," he said enigmatically, studying her. "Why do you wear those damned baggy things?" he demanded, nodding toward her bulky shirt and loose jeans.
She shrugged, avoiding that piercing gaze. "They're comfortable," she said inadequately.
"They look like hell. I'd rather see you in transparent blouses," he added coldly.
Her eyebrows arched. "You lecherous old thing," she accused.
He chuckledsoftly,deeply,asoundshe hadn't heard in a
long time. It made him seem younger. "Only with you, honey," he said softly. "I'm the soul of chivalry around most women."
Her eyes searched his. "You could have any woman you want these days," she murmured absently.
"Then isn't it a hell of a shame that I have such a fussy appetite?" he asked. He took a draw from the cigarette and studied her quietly. "I'm a busy man."
"You look it," she agreed, studying the dusty jeans that encased his hard, powerful legs, and his scuffed brown boots and sweat-stained denim shirt. There was a black mat of hair under that shirt, and a muscular chest that she remembered desperately wanting to touch.
"It's spring," he reminded her. "Cattle to doctor, calves to separate and brand and herds to move up to summer pasture as soon as we finish roundup. Hay to plant, machinery to repair and replace, temporary hands to hire for roundup, supplies to get in...if it isn't one damned thing, it's another."
"And you love every minute of it," she accused. "You'd die anywhere else."
"Amen." He finished the cigarette and tossed it down. "Crush that out for me, will you, honey?"
"It's not dry enough for it to cause a grass fire," she reminded him, but she got up and did it all the same.
"Back in the old days, Indians and white men would stop fighting to battle grass fires together," he told her with a grin. "They're still hard to stop, even today."
She looked up at him, tracing his shadowed face with eyes that ached for what might have been. "You look so at home in the saddle," she remarked.
"I grew up in it." He reached down an arm. "Step on my boot and come up here. I'll give you a ride home."
"It's a good thing you don't ride a horse the way you drive," she observed.
"That's not a good way to get reacquainted," he said shortly.
"It's only the truth. Donavan wouldn't even get in a truck with you," she reminded him. "Although I have to admit that you're a pretty good driver on the highway."
"Thanks for nothing. Are you coming or not?"
She wanted and dreaded the closeness. He was so very strong. What if she panicked again, what if he demanded an answer to her sudden nervousness?
"Abby," he said suddenly, his voice as full of authority as if he were tossing orders at his cowboys. "Come on."
She reacted to that automatically and took his hand, tingling as it slid up her arm to hold her. She stepped deftly onto the toe of his boot in the stirrup and swung up in front of him.
He drew her back against him with a steely arm, and she felt the powerful muscles of his chest at her shoulder blades.
"Comfortable?" he asked shortly.
"I'm fine," she replied in a voice that was unusually high-pitched.
He eased the horse into a canter. "You'll be more comfortable if you'll relax, little one," he murmured. "I'm no threat."
That was what he thought, she told herself, reacting wildly to the feel of his body against her back. He smelled of leather and cow and tobacco, and his breath sighed over her head, into her loosened hair.
If only she could relax instead of sitting like a fire poker in his light embrace. But he made her nervous, just as he always had; he made her feel vulnerable and soft and hungry. Despite the bad experience in New York, he appealed to her senses in ways that unnerved her.
He chuckled softly and she stiffened more. "What's so funny?" she muttered above the sound of the horse's hooves striking hard ground.
"You are. Should I be flattered that you're afraid to let me hold you on a horse? My God, I didn't realize I was so devastating at close range. Or," he added musingly, "is it that I smell like a man who's been working with cattle?"
Laughter bubbled up inside her. It had been years since she and Cade had spent any time alone, and she'd forgotten his dry sense of humor.
"Sorry." She sighed. "I've been away longer than I realized."
His big arm tightened for an instant and relaxed, and she let him hold her without a struggle. His strength was less intimidating now than it had been the last time, as if the nightmare experience were truly fading away in the scope and bigness of this country where she had grown up. She felt safe. Safer than she'd felt in years.
"Four years," he murmured behind her head. "Except for a few days here and there, when you could tear yourself away from New York."
She went taut with indignation. "Are you going to start that again?"
"I never stopped it. You just stopped listening." His arm contracted impatiently for an instant, and his warm breath was on her ear. "When are you going to grow up, Abby? Glitter isn't enough for a lifetime. In the end, it's not going to satisfy you as a woman!"
"What is?" she asked curtly. "Living with some man and raising children?"
He seemed to freeze, as if she'd thrown cold water in his face, and she was sorry she'd said that. She hadn't meant it—she was just getting back at him.
"It's more than enough for women out here," he said shortly.
She stared across at the horizon, loving the familiar contours of the land, the shape of the tall trees, the blueness of the sky. "Your grandmother had ten children, didn't she, Cade?" she asked, remembering the photos in the McLaren family album.
"Yes." He laughed shortly. "There wasn't much choice in those days, honey. Women didn't have a lot of control over their bodies, like they do now."
"And it took big families to run ranches and farms," she agreed. She leaned back against him, feeling his muscles ripple with the motion of the horse. Her eyes closed as she drank in the sensation of being close.
"It was more than that," he remarked as they approached the house. "People in love want children."
She laughed aloud at that. "I can't imagine you in love," she said. "It's completely out of character. What was it you always said about never letting a woman put a ring through your nose?"
He didn't laugh. If anything, he seemed to grow cold. "You don't know me at all, Abby. You never have."
"Who could get close enough?" she asked coolly. "You've got a wall ten feet thick around yourself, just like Donavan had. It must be a McLaren trait."
"When people come close, they can hurt," he said shortly. "I've had my fill of being cut to the quick."
"I can't imagine anyone brave enough to try that," she told him.
"Can't you?" He sounded goaded, and the arm that was holding her tautened.
She got a glimpse of his face as he leaned down to open the gate between them and the house, and its hardness unsettled her. He looked hurt somehow, and she couldn't understand why.
"Cade?" she murmured before he straightened again.
His eyes looked straight into hers, and she trembled at the intensity of the glare, its suppressed violence.
"One day, you'll push too hard," he said quietly. "I'm not made of stone, despite the fact that you seem to believe I am. I let you get away with murder when you were younger. But you're not a child anymore, Abby, and the kid gloves are off. Do you understand me?"
How could she help it? Her heart shuddered with mingled fear and excitement. Involuntarily, her eyes went to his hard mouth and she remembered vividly the touch and taste and expertness of it.
"Don't worry, Cade, I won't seduce you," she promised, trying to sound as if she were teasing him in a sophisticated way.
He caught her chin and forced her eyes back up to his, and she jumped at the ferocity in his dark gaze. "I could have had you that night at the swimming pool, Abigail Jennifer Shane," he reminded her with merciless bluntness. "We're both four years older, but don't think you're immune to me. If you start playing games, you could goad me into doing something we'd both regret."
She tried to breathe normally and failed miserably. She forced her eyes down to the harsh rise and fall of his chest, and then closed them.
"Just because I had a huge crush on you once, don't get conceited and think I'm still stupid enough to moon over you, Cade," she bit off.
As if the words set him off, his eyes flashed and all at once he had her across the saddle,
over his knees, with her head imprisoned in the crook of his arm.
She struggled, frightened by his strength as she'd been afraid from the beginning that she would be. "No," she whispered, pushing frantically at his chest.
"Let's see how conceited I am, Abby," he ground out, bending his head to hers.
One glance into those blazing eyes was enough to tell her that he wasn't teasing. She groaned helplessly as his hard mouth crushed down onto hers in cold, angry possession.
It might have been so different if he'd been careful, if he hadn't given in to his temper. But she was too frightened to think rationally. It was New York all over again, and a man's strength was holding her helpless while a merciless mouth ground against her own. Through the fear, she thought she felt Cade tremble, but she couldn't be sure. Her mind was focused only on the hard pressure of his mouth, the painful tightening of his arms. Suddenly she began to fight. She hit him with her fists, anywhere she could, and when the shock of it made him lift his head, she screamed.
An indescribable expression washed over his features, and he seemed to go pale.
Abby hung back against his arm, her pale brown eyes full of terror, her lips bloodless as she stared up at him, her breasts rising and falling with her strangled breaths.
"My God, what's happened to you?" he asked, in a shocked undertone.
She swallowed nervously, her lips trembling with reaction, her body frozen in its arch. "Please...don't handle me...roughly," she pleaded, her voice strange and high.
His eyes narrowed, glittering. His face went rock hard as he searched her features. "What made you come here, Abby?" he demanded. "What drove you out of the city?"
Her eyes closed and she shuddered. "I told you, I was tired," she choked out. "Tired!"
He said something terrible under his breath and straightened, moving her away from him with a smooth motion. "It's all right," he said when her eyes flew open at the movement. "I'm only going to let you sit up."
She avoided his piercing scrutiny, sitting quickly erect with her back to him.
He spurred the horse toward the house. "If you can't bear to be touched, there has to be a reason," he said shortly. "You've been hurt some way, or frightened. I asked you if you'd been knocked around by a man, and you denied it. But you lied to me, didn't you, Abby?"
Books By Diana Palmer Page 149
