by Janet Dailey
“Was there something you wanted?”
The blandly arrogant voice of a stranger shocked Kit out of her trance. She pivoted in its direction, her eyes rounded and momentarily alarmed. Her total concentration with the portrait had blinded her to the figure sitting behind the hardwood desk. It was the stranger from the road, the one she had ordered off the property. His relaxed air, his attitude of being completely in possession and command, was the igniting spark to her temper.
In the blink of an eye, surprise was overtaken by the violence that had a moment ago been directed impotently at the portrait. Now there was someone it could be released on, and justly, too.
“I warned you to get off this ranch!” Kit unleashed the fury that had been boiling within her. “What are you doing here? Who let you in?” She’d have their scalp and his, too, before she was done.
Her demand briefly arched a dark brow, but nothing resembling guilt or any other emotion flickered in the cool hazel eyes regarding her so steadily. The rough angles and planes of his face were immobile.
“No one let me in.” He stressed the verb. The cruel line of his lips parted as he spoke, baring white teeth in a cynically cold smile that mocked her wrath.
His insolence was an electric prod and Kit stormed toward the hallway. “Someone is sure as hell going to show you out!”
Not even in the blazing red of her anger was Kit so foolish as to believe she could throw him out. And she sincerely hoped the stranger would not go peaceably because she would love to see him roughed up a bit and that complacent look literally wiped from his face.
Her angry strides were punctuated by the sharp jingle of her spurs. As she neared the door she could see Lew and Kyle walking by through the fine mesh of the screen. Her outstretched arm violently pushed the door open, rigidly holding it ajar.
“Lew! Kyle!” Her gravelly voice barked their names.
Both heads jerked around toward the Big House, their steps halting at the strident tone of her voice. There was a faintly puzzled look to their expressions, visible at even Kit’s distance.
“Come here!” she ordered. “There’s a gentleman —”
“We already met the new baron, Kit,” Lew interposed, frowning and cocking his head to the side. “So if it ain’t too important, Kyle and me got to make some phone calls to see if we can find the replacement parts for the H.”
The last part of his reply didn’t register, only the first — only the words “the new baron.” Every tissue froze. There was a wild hammering in her head. It took Kit a second to realize it was the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears like a thousand war drums.
In slow motion she let the screen door swing shut and saw the two ranch hands hesitate before walking on. With equally deliberate movements Kit turned.
The stranger — savagely she corrected it — the new baron was negligently leaning a shoulder against the jamb of the opened library door. The side of his forefinger was thoughtfully rubbing across the line of his mouth, his veiled but watchful look studying her reaction.
“You are the new baron.” The bitter words were an accusation, issued precisely without any attempt to disguise her dislike of the news.
He straightened to his full height, the hand falling easily away from his mouth. Yet there still remained something indolent about his pose. A faint, almost imperceptible nod of his head acknowledged the truth of her accusation.
“The name is Reese Talbot,” he offered in further identification, without in any way being ingratiating or friendly. It was a flat statement.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Kit demanded in a low, boiling voice, incensed that he had deliberately kept her in the dark when she had confronted him on the lane.
He tipped his head slightly sideways, his gaze hardening. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to fuzz-faced punks.”
She was trembling with the force of her contained anger. “What am I supposed to do now? Should I curtsy and beg m’lord’s forgiveness for not knowing who he was?”
His eyes narrowed into gold brown slits, his gaze slowly raking her from head to toe. Kit became conscious of her appearance. Her stained hat was pulled low on her head, concealing the hair piled beneath it. A powdering of dust covered her face. She could taste the caked grime on her lips. The man’s shirt, the patched Levi’s and the bulky quilted vest combined to make her figure shapelessly slender. Spurs were strapped on her boots and leather gloves covered her hands.
A light glittered in his eyes, amused contempt. “You could never guess by looking at you that you are a woman. But then, I didn’t expect to meet a man-talking female, either.”
“If you think I’m going to object to being mistaken for a boy, you are wrong,” Kit retorted.
But he didn’t indicate one way or the other what he thought. “You obviously work here.”
Kit hesitated for a fraction of a second. Evidently the new baron, this Reese Talbot, didn’t know who she was. In a way it was hardly surprising.
“Yes, I work here,” she admitted and added no more.
He continued to regard her in that same light. “What’s your name?”
“Katheri —” For some reason she almost gave him her full given name, as if asserting her femininity, but she quickly changed it. “Kit Bonner.”
“Bonner,” he repeated the last name. “That’s the same as the ranch manager. Are you his granddaughter?”
“Yes.” Kit tensed, suddenly defensive, her chin lifting. “How did you know?”
“He mentioned you when I met him this afternoon.” Reese Talbot seemed to find her question curious. It showed in the sharpening of his look. “He said you’d ridden off somewhere.”
“And you presumed that meant a leisurely afternoon horseback ride,” she added contemptuously. “An idle canter through the meadow.”
“Yes, I did.”
Kit had difficulty holding his level gaze and looked away in irritation. “Why have you come here?” Her demanding question short and challenging.
“I own the Flying Eagle. I wasn’t aware I required a reason to come here,” he said in a voice that was as smooth as steel.
Its thrusting gibe found a sensitive spot. “You aren’t wanted.” Kit was struggling so hard to keep control of her anger that her voice was even huskier than usual.
“Obviously not by you.” Reese Talbot seemed to find her open hostility a source of amusement.
“Not by anyone,” she corrected stiffly. “Any welcome you’ve received since you arrived was only issued out of polite courtesy.”
“And you don’t feel you are bound by any rules of courtesy.” He was taunting her as one would tease a hissing kitten.
Kit trembled from the frustration of her own impotence. “I am not a hypocrite. And I am not about to mouth polite phrases I don’t mean.”
“That would be asking too much, wouldn’t it?” he said mockingly.
“It isn’t so strange that I’m skeptical of your reason for coming since you descended on us without warning.”
There was an indication of thinning patience in the hardening set of his jaw. The slight crook to his nose gave a forbidding air to his lean, classically and aggressively male features.
“Perhaps I merely wanted to insure that my arrival would be minus a lot of fanfare,” he suggested.
“And perhaps you thought your new inheritance wasn’t sending you enough money!” Kit flashed. “Perhaps you thought if you arrived unannounced, it would be easier to discover if we were stealing from you. As you can see —” her hand slashed through the air in a sweeping gesture to encompass an invisible everything “— we are all living high off the hog. We just keep replacing worn-out equipment parts and keep track of every stray cow or calf for the fun of it.”
“For your grandfather’s sake, I think it would be best if you didn’t say anymore, Miss Bonner.” There was no mistaking the unspoken threat behind his words.
Kit paled that he should dare to threaten her, b
ut she swallowed the bitter words that rose like bile in her throat and turned to leave, wanting to get as far away from him as possible, his presence becoming a suffocating thing.
“Don’t leave yet, Miss Bonnet. I’m not through with you.”
His mocking and autocratic voice flashed through her like a lightning bolt, searing her limbs and jerking Kit up short. Fighting for every ounce of composure she possessed, Kit faced him, her brown eyes snapping.
“Do I require your permission to leave?” she blazed.
He ignored her rebellious stance. “Your grandfather suggested that I speak to you about the house.”
Her indignant anger was tempered by caution at the sound of the two magic words, grandfather and house. “What house?” Kit demanded guardedly, lowering her head so the wide brim of her Stetson shadowed most of her expression.
“This house, of course.” His reply was smooth enough, but a frown flickered across Reese Talbot’s forehead.
“What about it?”
“It needs more than just an airing. It needs a thorough cleaning and the cupboards need to be stocked with food.”
“The fact that it isn’t ready for you is your own fault since you didn’t notify us that you were coming,” she stated.
“I am aware of the reason, but that doesn’t change the situation, does it?” Again there was that flash of white teeth in a cold smile.
“How long are you intending to stay?”
“I have no idea,” he responded in a tone that indicated it had no bearing on the matter.
“I am neither a housekeeper nor a cook.” Her chin was thrust forward at a defiant angle. “So however long your visit turns out to be, you are going to have to find your own solution.”
“And in the interim?” he challenged.
“As for bedding, I imagine the boys could rustle you up some clean blankets and such from the bunkhouse. And for your evening meal —” if he thought she was going to invite him to join her and Nate he was mistaken again “ — Cookie — Frank Jarvis does all the cooking for the boys. I’m sure he can stretch the meal to include you.”
With an abrupt pivot Kit was out of the house, letting the screen door slam behind her. She half expected to hear him order her back into the house as she clumped down the steps to the hitching post where the bay horse waited patiently. Not a single sound came from the house.
Looping the reins over the horse’s neck she swung into the saddle and jabbed a spur into the horse’s flank, sending him bounding forward toward the barn, There she dismounted, stripped the saddle and pad from his back and led him into the corral where she unbuckled the bridle. All her actions were accomplished with the swiftness of controlled anger.
As she stowed the saddle and bridle in the tack room, Frank was graining the horses they kept at the ranch yard. Kit ignored his greeting. Like Lew, Frank had been around for a while and wisely didn’t pursue a response. With the riding gear put away, Kit left the barn and headed straight for the small house, keeping her gaze averted from the Big House.
The hinges of the door squeaked as she pulled it open. The sound immediately brought an anxious call from her grandfather. “Kitty, is that you?”
“Yes.” He was closer, in the kitchen now.
“If you are going to tell me that the baron has arrived, I already know it.” Unzipping the vest, Kit shrugged out of it and hung it on a coat hook. Then the spurs came off, followed by the hat.
“Have you talked to him yet?” Nate Bonner asked finally and quietly, already guessing the answer by the abruptness of her movement.
“Yes, I’ve talked to him.” She brushed past him into the kitchen.
“Kitty, you can’t blame him for what happened,” Her grandfather followed, anxious yet gently understanding, “He had nothing to do with it”
“I don’t blame him for it. All of that happened so long ago that it really isn’t important anymore,” she lied through her teeth. It had molded her life, erected the hard shell around her that never let anyone through. Kit stopped beside the counter and glanced at the condensing steam on the glass cover of the crockpot. “It looks like dinner will hold for half an hour. I’m going to take a shower and change into some clean clothes before we eat.”
Further discussion of the baron’s arrival was avoided. The subject was not mentioned once during the evening meal. Kit rose from the small table in the kitchen to carry the dishes to the sink.
Nate cleared his throat and announced, “The new baron has invited us over to the Big House tonight.”
“You go,” she replied calmly and without hesitation. “I have a lot of paperwork to do.”
“The invitation was for both of us.”
“But it was made before the baron knew who your granddaughter was. Now that he’s met me, I don’t think he’ll be at all sorry if I don’t accept.” The plates were in the sink and she reached for the milk glasses.
“What happened this afternoon when you met him?” He held a match to his pipe and puffed.
“I thought he was trespassing, a tourist or a newspaper reporter or something, and I ordered him off the ranch. He attempted to put me in my place.”
Her clipped answer drew a long sigh from Nate Bonnet. “I don’t think he knows anything about you or what happened. He seemed surprised that I had a granddaughter. Maybe it would be best if I explained —”
“Don’t you dare!” The facade of composure shattered as Kit pivoted to face him. The resentment smoldering within surfaced to blaze in her eyes. Quickly she tried to stamp out the fires. “It wouldn’t change anything.” Kit turned back to the sink. “So if he doesn’t know, it wouldn’t do any good to enlighten him. Besides, I doubt if he’ll be here very long. None of the barons ever do stay. They just grace the ranch with their presence for a short while,” she offered bitterly, “then go back to their castles in England.”
“You’re probably right,” Nate agreed, biting the stem of his pipe as he spoke, a faint grimness to his words.
“Of course I’m right. That’s their pattern. So why should this baron behave any differently than the others?” She shrugged. “He’ll go and everything will be the way it was before he came.”
“Not always,” Nate murmured to himself as he pushed out of the kitchen chair. “Not always.”
Her heart stopped beating for a second, an icy chill running down her spine. She clamped her teeth together, gritting them in a self-willing determination that it would turn out the way she said. His presence would cause no more than a mere ripple from a pebble in a large pond, and not the reverberating splash of a boulder.
“I’ll be going to the Big House how,” Nate announced.
“All right. As soon as I’m done with the dishes, I’m going to get at the paperwork.”
“I probably won’t be long.”
“No, I don’t imagine,” she agreed. Standing at the sink, her hand poised on the faucet knob, Kit heard herself whisper, “Don’t tell him, grandpa.”
His hand rested briefly on her shoulder, a fleeting caress of understanding and reassurance. “I won’t, child.”
She turned on the faucet, pride stiffening her carriage and instilling a note of cynical indifference into her voice. “Give the baron my regards.”
As the back door closed behind her grandfather, Kit felt her protective veneer crumbling, a harsh, splintering sound within her. No matter how much she tried to deny it, she was vulnerable, frighteningly so. That’s why she had to act so tough, so insensitive.
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Chapter Three
BY MORNING the defensive shell was again in place, erected even sturdier than before. The ranch’s lone milk cow, kept to supply their needs, had been milked and tier morning offering was now strained and in the refrigerator.
Dressed in her usual garb of hat, man’s shirt, worn Levi’s and boots, Kit was returning to the barn. The sight of Lew wearing his going-to-town outfit of a good print shirt and crisp denims, heading for the ranch pickup, c
hanged her direction.
“Where are you going, Lew?” she demanded. “I thought I told you to put that new fence post in this morning.”
“You did, but the baron asked me to take him into town.” He gestured toward the Big House in explanation.
A film of red sprang before her eyes, “I don’t give a damn what the baron wants!” Kit flamed. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
“Don’t you go gettin’ on your high horse with me, Kitty Bonner,” Lew stiffened. “Don’t you forget I knowed you when you was waddlin’ around this place in diapers.”
“And don’t you forget that I’m the boss,” she retorted. “I give the orders around here.”
“I was under the impression,” a low voice said behind Kit, whirling her around like a top, “that as the owner I had something to say about what goes on here.”
Reese Talbot confronted her, complacent challenge in his cold smile and hooded eyes. Kit hadn’t heard him approach and to find him standing so close caught her by surprise. At close quarters his height was intimidating, as was the breadth of his shoulders. Disturbingly vital so early in the morning, he seemed an immovable male object planted squarely in her path. Attacking a superior force was useless, which made defense mandatory.
“Of course you have a say in what goes on.” The reluctant, admission was issued in a clipped tone. “But it’s wiser not to go around countermanding orders until you know what’s going on. The fence along the road needs repairing. And I can’t have one of my men wasting valuable time standing around a saloon drinking beer while waiting on your pleasure to return to the ranch.”
“One of your men, Miss Bonner?” His tauntingly soft voice put emphasis on the possessive pronoun.
The grounds for her answer were too shaky so Kit sidestepped the question by flicking a sharp glance at the ranch hand listening in. “Get into some work clothes, Lew, and get out on that fence line.” Then her challenging gaze reverted to Reese Talbot. “What’s the matter with your car?”
