Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  He nodded. He held a smoking cigarette in his hand, but he gave it a hard glare and tossed it to the ground and crushed it under his boot.

  "You smoke too much," she observed.

  He laughed shortly. "I know. I hate the damned things, but it's a habit of long standing."

  Like pushing me away, she thought, but didn't speak. Her eyes scanned the starry sky and she wrapped her arms tight around the little blue dress she was wearing.

  "Cold, honey?" he asked gently.

  She shook her head. "Not very. Calla and Jeb have gone to a movie," she said for no reason.

  "And that means that we're alone in the house, doesn't it?" he said. His eyes narrowed. "What do you want me to do about it, Abby, carry you up those stairs to my bedroom, the way I did once before?" He laughed bitterly. "Sorry, honey, I stopped giving lessons that day by the river. Maybe you can find somebody in New York to take over where I left off."

  It was like being cut to pieces. "Maybe I can," she said in a taut voice. She turned. "It's late. I'd better go in."

  He caught her arm hesitantly, and that puzzled her. He didn't pull her closer, but held her just at his side. "Were you hoping I might come out here?"

  She had been, but she would have died rather than admit it now. "I told you before, I'm through throwing myself at your feet, Cade," she replied calmly. "Don't worry, you're perfectly safe. You can always lock your bedroom door, can't you?"

  "Stop that. It's nothing to joke about." "I wasn't joking." She tugged her arm free. "Good night, Cade." "Talk to me, damn it!" he burst out. "About what?" she shot back. "About my bad manners, my sickening career or my loose morals, all of which you seem to think I enjoy!" He stiffened. "I've never accused you of having loose morals."

  "Except when I come anywhere near you," she said with a bitter laugh.

  "You won't try to see my side of it," he ground out. "You're just playing games, but I'm not. I'm too old for it,"

  "Excuse me, grandpa, I'll try not to unsettle you...Cade!"

  He jerked her against him and his hands hurt where they gripped her arms. "I want you," he said under his breath. "Don't tempt me. I'm very nearly at the end of my patience as it is. I want you away from Painted Ridge before I do something I don't want to do."

  Her lips trembled. "You think I'd let you?" she whispered.

  His eyes met hers. "I know you would, and so do you. We go off like dynamite when we start touching each other." His hands dropped. "But it isn't enough. I want more than a feverish night of physical satisfaction. You'd give me that, and I'd give it back. But it's nothing I couldn't have from any of a dozen women," he added coldly. "And it's not going to happen— if you get out of here in time."

  It was a warning that she was willing to heed. A night with Cade would make it impossible for her to live without him, and she was wise enough to realize it. She dropped her eyes.

  "I'll arrange to go Saturday morning," she said.

  His face hardened at her subdued tone, but he only nodded. "It's for the best. You came to me hurt, and I hope I've helped you to heal. But your world isn't mine. The longer you stay, the harder it gets...."

  He didn't finish it. Instead he lit another cigarette. "You'd better go in. It is getting cold out here."

  "Arctic," she mused, glancing up at him. She gathered her poise and her pride and smiled grimly as she brushed past him and went back inside. She moved quickly, grateful that he couldn't see the tears that slid down her cheeks as she went up the stairs. They made her oblivious to the dark eyes that followed her almost worshipfully until she was out of sight.

  Melly and Jerry came home looking tanned and rested from their Florida vacation and blissfully happy with each other. Abby could hardly bear their happiness, since it reminded her so graphically that she'd lost every chance of having any of her own with Cade.

  "How's everything going here?" Melly asked when they were alone, Jerry having ridden up into the hills to help with roundup.

  "Just fine," Abby lied, "but I've had a call from my agency and there's a possibility of a long-term contract for a bottling company. I'm terribly excited about it."

  Melly's face fell. " You're going back to New York? But I thought...?"

  "Now that you're home, I can leave it all in your capable hands,” Abby said with a forced smile. "I've missed New York, and it will be great to get back to work."

  "But the attack, the reason you came here..."

  "Cade helped me over it," Abby said quietly. "I'll always be grateful to him for that. But he wants no part of me—he's made that quite clear. I'm going to do him a favor and go away."

  "He loves you, you stupid idiot!" Melly burst out.

  Abby flinched and tears welled up in her eyes. "No!" she said huskily. "If he feels anything, it's anger because I preferred modeling to ranch life."

  "Have you talked to him, at least?"

  "Sure," Abby agreed, not adding that they'd argued every second they were together. "We've both agreed that I have no place in his life, or he in mine." She turned around and walked toward the stairs. "I'm going to pack. Want to help me? I've made reservations on a plane in the morning."

  "Oh, Abby, don't do it!" Melly pleaded.

  But all her pleading and all her reasoning didn't sway her stubborn sister. The next morning Cade drove the two women out to the airport.

  It had been a shock to find him at the wheel of the big sedan when it pulled up at the front door. He was wearing the same navy blazer and dark slacks he'd worn the other night at supper, but he had a striped blue tie over his white silk shirt. The only Western thing about him was his dressy cream Stetson and leather boots.

  Her flight was being called as they walked into the terminal, and Abby hugged Melly quickly, suitcase in hand, before she boarded the plane. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  "Write to me," she pleaded.

  "I will," Melly promised. Her eyes narrowed. "I wish you wouldn't go."

  "I have to. I have commitments." She told the lie with panache and a faint smile.

  Cade didn't say a word. He stood looking down at her with eyes so dark they seemed black, a smoking cigarette in one hand, his face like flint.

  Abby forced herself to look up at him. She was wearing shoes with only tiny heels, and he was taller than ever. Bigger. The most impossibly handsome man she'd ever known, and her heart ached just at the sight of him.

  "Bye, Cade," she said quietly. "Thanks for letting me stay so long."

  He only nodded. His chest rose and fell heavily, quickly, and his lips were set in a thin line.

  "Well...I'd better go," Abby said in a high-pitched tone.

  Cade threw the cigarette into one of the sand-filled ashtrays and abruptly reached for Abby, crushing her against the length of his body. The suitcase fell and she struggled helplessly for a moment, until he subdued her with nothing more than his firm hold.

  She stared into his fierce eyes and stopped fighting, and they looked at each other in a tense, painful exchange that made Abby's knees feel as though they would fold under her. Her lips parted on a sobbing breath, and he bent his head.

  It was like no kiss they'd ever shared. His mouth eased down over hers so softly she hardly felt it, and then it moved harder and deeper and slower and rougher until she moaned and reached up, clinging to his neck. He lifted her against him, still increasing the pressure of his arms, his mouth, until she felt as if they were burning into each other, fusing a bond nothing would ever sever. She wanted him. She wanted him! Her mouth, her body, her aching moan told him so, and she could feel the tremor of his own body as the kiss went on and on.

  Finally, slowly, he eased her back down onto the floor and breath by breath took his mouth away. His arms slackened and withdrew, although his steely hands held her until she was steady again.

  His eyes searched hers. "Goodbye, Abby," he said in a voice like steel.

  "Goodbye, Cade," she whispered brokenly.

  He brushed his fingers against her cheek, unsteady fing
ers that touched her as if she'd already become a beautiful illusion. "My God, how I could have loved you!" he breathed. And then, before she could believe her own ears, he turned and strode quietly away, without once looking back.

  Abby stared after him, uncomprehending. "Did...did I just hear what I thought I heard?" she murmured.

  "What, honey?" Melly asked gently, coming back within earshot. "I was being discreet. Gosh, what a kiss that was! And you're leaving?"

  Abby sighed bitterly. Surely she'd dreamed it, or misunderstood...or had she? She took a steadying breath. "I have to go. I'll miss my flight. Melly, take care of him?"

  "You could have done that yourself, if you'd told him the truth," Melly said softly. "It's still not too late. You could catch him."

  "He wouldn't listen," she said wearily. "You know how Cade is when he makes up his mind, and I've gone mad and started hearing things again. Back to the salt mines, Melly. I'm fine now, I'm just fine. Take care. I love you."

  "I love you, too." She searched her sister's eyes. "He couldn't have kissed you that way without caring one hell of a lot. Think about that. Hurry now!"

  Abby waved and ran for the plane. And all the way back to New York she thought and thought about that long, hard kiss and what she imagined Cade had said until she all but went crazy. Finally, in desperation, she tucked the memory in the back of her mind and closed her eyes. It was over now; he'd sent her away. Looking back was no good at all. She'd had time to recuperate and get herself back together. Now she had to put Montana and Cade behind her and start over. She could do it. After all, her career was all she had left.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took several days for Abby to adjust to city life again after the wide-open country of Montana. Accustomed to staying up late at the ranch, she now had to go to bed early, watch her diet, be concerned with shadows and lines of weariness, add to her wardrobe and pack her huge handbag with the dozens of items she might need for an assignment. And every night she soaked her aching feet and smothered herself in cold cream and longed for Cade McLaren with every cell in her body.

  She did Jessica's sketches in the weeks that followed and mailed them to Wyoming. Jessica phoned her shortly afterwards and invited her out to see the boutique, but Abby had to put her off. She was working feverishly, and the lie she'd told Melly about the bottling company commercials had been amazingly prophetic. She was offered a television commercial for a soft drink company, which she immediately accepted. Her career was skyrocketing. And it was as empty as her life.

  She didn't even bother dating other men. What was the use, when all she could do was compare them to Cade. So she worked and grieved for him, and before very long the toll of loneliness began to show on her.

  All the years before, she'd had that sweet memory of him to sustain her, and the hope that someday things might change. But now there was no hope left. There was nothing to cling to, only a future that was empty and lonely. Even if she accepted Jessica's offer and went to live in Wyoming, she might be near Cade but she'd still be alone. She didn't know how she was going to bear it.

  Late on Friday night, she was halfheartedly watching television when the phone rang. She couldn't imagine who it could be at that hour, and she was frowning when she picked up the receiver.

  "Hello?" she murmured.

  "Hello, honey," came a deep, painfully familiar voice. She sat down, paling. It had been almost four months since she'd last heard that particular voice, but she would have known it on her deathbed.

  "Cade?" she whispered shakily.

  "Yes." There was a pause. "How are you, Abby?"

  She drew in a slow breath. Don't panic, she told herself, don't give yourself away. "I'm just fine, Cade," she said brightly.

  "No date on a Friday night?" he murmured.

  She drew her gold caftan closer around her, as if he could see her all the way from Montana. "I was tired," she replied. "Is everything all right? Melly...?"

  "Melly's fine. She and Jerry are down at Yellowstone for the weekend."

  "Oh." She gripped the receiver tightly. "Then nothing's wrong?"

  "Everything's wrong," he said after a minute. "Hank's quitting."

  "Hank!" She sat straight up. "Why?"

  He laughed mirthlessly. "He says I'm too damned mean to stay around."

  "Are you?" she asked softly. There was something strange about his voice, different. "Cade, are you all right?" she asked, and the concern seeped through.

  "I'm...fine." He laughed again. "I'll be finer when I get through this bottle."

  "You're drinking!" It was the only thing that could explain the way he sounded.

  "Are you shocked? I'm human, Abby, although you sure as hell never thought I was, did you?" There was a thud and a muffled curse. "Damn, why does furniture have to sprout legs when you try to go around it?"

  She wrapped the telephone cord around her fingers. "Cade, is someone there with you? Calla?"

  "Calla's gone to a movie with Jeb. Any day now I expect to be asked to the wedding." He sighed. "Abby, before long you and I are going to be the only two single people on earth."

  "Why are you drinking?" she asked, worried. "You haven't gotten hurt, have you?"

  "You're a hell of a person to ask me that," he growled. "You cut the heart out of me when you got on that damned plane. Just the way you cut it out when you got on the bus four years ago. Oh, God, Abby, I miss you!" he ground out, his voice throbbing with emotion. "I miss

  you!"

  Tears burst from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "I miss you, too," she whispered. Her eyes closed and she bit her lip. "Every hour of every day."

  There was a long, deep sigh from the other end of the line. "We should have made love that day by the river," he said achingly. "Maybe we would have gotten each other out of our systems. I've got a picture of you by my bed, Abby. I sit here and look at it and ache all over."

  Her fingers clenched until the blood went out of them. She had one of him, too, that she'd carried to New York with her four years before. It was wrinkled from being hugged against her heart.

  "You're the one who told me sex was a bad foundation to build on," she reminded him wearily.

  "It wasn't just sex," he said. "It's never been that. Four years ago, I couldn't risk getting you pregnant, don't you see? I couldn't take the choice away from you. To hell with how I felt, I couldn't force you to stay here, Abby."

  Her breath caught in her throat. She caught the receiver with both hands and sat as still as a poker. Did he even realize what he was admitting?

  "You...you thought that given the choice between you and modeling..."

  "You showed me which was more important, didn't you, honey?" he asked with a bitter laugh. He sighed heavily. "You got on that bus, laughing like a freed prisoner, and you never even looked at me. I told your father I'd marry you, if you'd have me, and we fought it out half the night. He said you were too young and you wanted a chance to get away from the ranch, to be somebody. I argued with him then, but when it came down to it, I couldn't make you stay with me." His voice was faintly slurred, but just as beautiful as ever, and Abby was hurting in ways she'd never dreamed she could. "You see, I'd already realized how vulnerable you were with me. And I was just as vulnerable with you. I had to be careful not to come too close, Abby, because we could have gotten in over our heads. I figured you'd go to New York and get tired of the city and come back to me. But you didn't."

  There was a world of emotion in those words. Bitterness. Hopelessness. Hurt.

  "You never asked me to stay," she whispered. "You said you didn't want a commitment to any woman, a...a leash on your freedom."

  He laughed. "I haven't been free since you were fifteen years old. I've never wanted anyone else. I never will."

  "You let me go!" she burst out, suddenly hating him. "Damn you, you let me go! I was only eighteen, but there was nothing New York had to offer that could have torn me away from you if you'd just told me to stay! One lousy word, just one wor
d—stay. And you let me go, Cade!"

  There was a shocked pause on the other end of the line, a silence like darkness in a graveyard.

  But she didn't notice. The words were tumbling out of her, while tears burned down her cheeks. "I loved the glamour, you said, I couldn't live without the city! And all I've done for four years is stare at this picture of you and cry my eyes out! You put me on a bus four years ago, and you put me on a plane four months ago...damn you, what do you care? You push me away, you accuse me of teasing you, you...Cade? Cade!"

  But the line was dead. She slammed the receiver down and burst into tears. If he called back, she wasn't even going to answer. Let him sit and drown in his whiskey. She didn't care! She turned off the lights and went to bed in a fit of furious temper.

  Several hours later, she sat straight up in bed as the doorbell rang and rang and rang. Maybe she was dreaming it. It had taken her forever to get to sleep, and she was still drowsy. She laid her head back on the pillow, but there it came again, even more insistently.

  Frowning sleepily, she padded to the front door of her apartment with her gold caftan swirling around her.

  "Who is it?" she grumbled.

  "Who the hell do you think? Open the door, or do I have to break it down?"

  "Cade?" Her heart jumped wildly and she fumbled the catch and the safety latch off and opened the door. And it was no dream.

  He came into the apartment with a scowl as black as thunder on his dark face, looking sleepy and tired and worn out. He was wearing jeans and a half-open denim shirt, and old boots and the battered brown ranch hat he wore to work cattle. His boots were dusty, his face needed a shave and he was altogether the most beautiful sight Abby had seen in her life.

  "Cade!" she breathed, blinking up at him out of sleepy eyes, her tangled hair glorious in its disarray, the caftan clinging lovingly and quite revealingly to every line of her body.

  "I've had half a bottle of whiskey," he said, towering over her with the locked door behind him. "And I'm not quite sober yet, despite the three cups of black coffee I had on the plane. But you said something to me that I'm sure I really heard and didn't dream, and I flew up here to let you say it again. Just to make sure."