Wyoming Strong

by Diana Palmer

  “I had them in Morocco, when I was there on a case once,” he remarked.

  “I did, too. In this beautiful hotel on a hill in Tangier,” she began.

  “El Minzah,” he said without thinking.

  Her hand stilled in the bag. “Why, yes,” she stammered.

  “They had a driver named Mustapha and a big Mercedes sedan,” he continued, grinning.

  She laughed. It changed her whole appearance, made her even more beautiful. “He took me to the caves outside the city, where the Barbary pirates hid their loot.”

  “You? Alone?” he probed gently.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re always alone,” he said thoughtfully.

  She hesitated. Then she nodded. She turned back to the pigeons. “I don’t...mix well with people,” she confessed.

  “Neither do I,” he said gruffly.

  She tossed another handful of crumbs to the birds. “You have that look.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My brother has it, too,” she said without glancing at him. “They call it the thousand-yard stare.”

  He cocked his head and narrowed his pale eyes as he stared at what he could see of her face. He didn’t say a word.

  She lifted her eyes and winced. “Sorry,” she said, flushing. “I always put my foot in my mouth around you.” She shifted restlessly. “You make me nervous.”

  He let out a short laugh. “Me and the Russian Army maybe,” he mused.

  She turned her face toward him. She didn’t understand.

  He searched her black eyes slowly, and for longer than he meant to. “You stand your ground,” he explained. “You fight back. I admire spirit.”

  She averted her eyes. “You fight back, too.”

  “Long-standing habit.”

  She tossed some more crumbs. She was running out. “You don’t really like women, do you?” she blurted out, and then flushed and grimaced. “Sorry! I didn’t mean...”

  “No,” he interrupted, and his eyes grew cold. “I don’t like women. Especially brunettes.”

  “That was awful of me,” she apologized without looking at him. “I told you I don’t mix well with people. I don’t know how to be diplomatic.”

  “I don’t mind blunt speaking,” he said surprisingly. “So it’s my turn now.” He waited until she looked at him to continue. “You were hurt, badly and physically, by a man somewhere in your past.”

  The bag went flying. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  He wanted to draw her close and hold her, comfort her. But he moved toward her, and she shot to her feet, her head lowered.

  “God, Sara, what happened to you?” he asked through his teeth.

  She swallowed. Swallowed again. “I can’t...talk about it.”

  He was going to find out from Gabriel. He had no right to be curious, but she was too beautiful to go through life locked up inside like that. He stood up, too, but he didn’t move closer. “You should be in therapy,” he said softly. “This is no sort of life.”

  “I should be in therapy?” she returned with a short laugh. “What about you?”

  His face shuttered. “What about me?”

  “At the ballet,” she said. “You have no idea how you looked...”

  His chin lifted. His pale eyes flashed. “We were talking about you.”

  “Something happened to you, too,” she said doggedly. “I thought you hated me because I ran into you with the car. But that wasn’t it at all, was it? You hate me because I look like her, because I remind you of her.”

  His face was like stone. Beside him, one big hand clenched.

  “You...loved her,” she guessed.

  His eyes fragmented, like icy shards cutting into her face. “Damn you,” he whispered in a vicious undertone. He turned and walked away.

  Sara, watching him, wasn’t even offended. She began to understand him, just a little. There was something traumatic in his past, too. Something that tied him up in knots, that left him no peace. He’d loved the woman. She saw it in his eyes.

  Perhaps she’d died. Or left him for another man. Whatever the reason, he was still tied to it, wrapped up in it. He couldn’t get past it, any more than Sara could forget what had been done to her.

  Damaged people, she thought, and smiled sadly. She picked up her bag, tossed it in a nearby trash receptacle and went back to her apartment.

  * * *

  GABRIEL CAME HOME that weekend. He looked tired, and he wasn’t smiling.

  “Bad week?” Sara asked. They were at the ranch in Comanche Wells. She only stayed there when he was at home. She was nervous of being so far out of town on her own.

  “Very bad,” he said. “We’re having some problems over the oil fields. Terrorists, kidnappings, the usual,” he added with a smile. “How are you?”

  It was a throwaway remark, except that his eyes were very intent on her face as he waited for the answer.

  “I’m...the same. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Wolf Patterson called me and asked what had happened to you that made you back away from him if he came too close.”

  Her heart jumped. “He had no right,” she began furiously.

  “He reminded me that he waited for a tow truck with you one night after an opera in Houston, when you had a flat, and that you almost ran to get into the wrecker with the driver. Then he told me about a conversation you had in the park. He said you were afraid of him when he moved close to you.”

  “Only because he was being sarcastic and obnoxious,” she shot back. “I can’t abide the man!”

  His eyes narrowed. “I know you too well to believe that,” he said. “You find him attractive.”

  She flushed.

  He drew in a long breath. “He went through hell because of a woman who resembles you,” he said after a minute. “He’s not an evil man. He wouldn’t hurt you deliberately. But he might not be able to help it. He’s carrying scars. Bad ones.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  He shook his head. “It’s much too personal.”

  “I see.”

  “He’s had some very hard knocks from women. His mother hated him.”

  “What?”

  “She didn’t want a child, but her husband did. When he died, she farmed Wolf out to one set of friends after another. In one of those households, the father was an alcoholic. He beat Wolf until he was old enough to fight back. His mother thought it was funny when the authorities tried to make her take him back. She said that she had no use for a sniveling little brat that she didn’t want in the first place.”

  Sara sat down. She was getting a very sick picture of the man’s background.

  “But he ended up in law enforcement. He was with the FBI,” she recalled, having heard him say that.

  Gabriel almost bit his tongue off not replying. “He was a cop in San Antonio for a while. He went into other work, and they farmed him out to various agencies over the years. But he left the old life behind when he came here and bought the ranch.”

  “He seems an odd fit for a small town,” she said slowly.

  “It’s not the usual small town,” he replied. “He has enemies. Jacobsville is overflowing with mercs and ex-military, and he has friends here. Including me.”

  She frowned. “He has enemies?”

  “Deadly ones,” he replied. “There’s already been one attempt.”

  “Someone tried to kill him?” she asked, shocked, hating her own reaction to those words, because it mattered to her that someone had tried to kill him.

  Gabriel saw that. “Yes. Which makes him a moving target, along with anyone who gets close to him.” He put his big hand over hers. “You’ve had enough tragedy and trauma in your life. I don’t want you around him.”

  She gnawed her lower lip.

  “Sara, whatever you think you feel,” he said, choosing his words, “it wouldn’t end well. He hasn’t faced his past any more than you’ve faced yours. The two of you could damage each other, bad
ly.”

  “I see.”

  “He’s not the man for you to cut your teeth on. I can’t tell him what happened to you, and I know for a fact that you won’t. He’s aggressive with women he wants. You can’t afford to let him want you. Do you understand?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She drew in a breath, forced a smile and changed the subject. “How about a slice of cake? I made you a chocolate one.”

  He smiled back. “That would be nice.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  SARA FELT GRIEF like a living thing when she remembered what Gabriel had said about Wolf Patterson. Until then, she hadn’t realized how her attitude toward him was changing. When he’d knelt in front of her in the park, spoken to her in that gentle tone, her heart had started to melt. But she knew Gabriel was right. She couldn’t afford to encourage a man like that.

  Aggressive with women he wanted, Gabriel had said. So her brother knew things about him, knew that he had women.

  It shouldn’t have surprised her. Wolf was an attractive man. When he wasn’t baiting her and being sarcastic, he was charming. Those blonde women she’d seen him with were certainly charmed, she thought bitterly. Blonde. Always blonde. He hated brunettes. Sara was a brunette...

  The more she thought about it, the more it hurt. She’d buried herself in her studies for years, learned languages, traveled, done anything she could to force the horrible memories out of her mind. She succeeded for whole days at a time, although the nightmares came frequently, and she woke up screaming.

  In the daytime there was a remedy. She could ride. She loved horses, and she was an accomplished rider. The freedom of sailing across the pastures on the back of Black Silk, the fastest of Gabriel’s geldings, was a thrill beyond description. It blew away the pain. It gave her peace.

  Black Silk had a wild, free spirit, much like Sara herself. She tossed the saddle onto his back, checked the bindings and swung gracefully up onto his back. She pushed him into a full gallop across the pasture. Laughing, with her lithe body clinging to the saddle, her long black hair flying behind her, she made a picture that an artist would have loved.

  But the man driving along the road, watching her, was filled with horror. She could break her neck like that!

  He drove hell for leather down the road to the end of the pasture, swung the Mercedes up to the fence and slammed out of it seconds after he cut off the engine.

  Sara, shocked, saw him and pulled Black Silk up at the fence, patting him to ease his nervousness. She let him walk to the watering trough and sat still while he drank, and a furious Wolf Patterson came right over the fence toward her.

  “Get down,” he said in a tone that could have curdled milk.

  Speechless, she just sat and looked at him.

  He reached up and pulled her off the horse’s back as if she weighed nothing. He stood there, holding her in his arms off the ground, and glared into her shocked black eyes.

  “You crazy little fool, you could have killed yourself!” he ground out.

  “But...I always ride...like that,” she began.

  His hard face was pale. His eyes were flashing like fireworks. His eyes fell to her beautiful face, to her wide black eyes, to her soft bow of a mouth. He groaned, almost shivering with hunger, and suddenly brought his mouth right down over Sara’s soft lips without one single sign of hesitation.

  He felt her body go stiff. His mouth insisted, but the harder he kissed her, the more she stiffened. After a few seconds, he realized that she was frightened of him.

  He forced himself to slow down, although her mouth was the sweetest nectar he’d tasted in years. He smoothed his lips tenderly over her top lip, teasing it, toying with it, in a silence broken only by the raspy sound of his own breathing and the quick rhythm of hers.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “Don’t fight me. Open your mouth under mine. Let me taste you...”

  She’d never felt anything quite like it. Her hands had a death grip on his neck, cold and tremulous as she let him kiss her. It had been years since she’d even tolerated a kiss. His mouth was sensuous, firm, very expert. She didn’t know what to do, but she did relax just a little. It felt good. It felt...wonderful. Nothing like the man in her nightmares...

  He lifted his head a few seconds later and looked into her wide, curious black eyes. “You don’t know how to do this,” he said in a deep, almost shocked tone.

  She swallowed. She could taste him on her mouth, tasted coffee and something like mint.

  He was fascinated. He bent to her mouth again, drew his ever so softly over it, smiling faintly, because she wasn’t resisting him.

  “Like this,” he whispered, and taught her the brushing little caresses that were tender and slow and arousing.

  She followed his lead, her heart racing. He was her worst enemy in the world, and she was letting him kiss her. Not only that. She was...kissing him back. He tasted like honey...

  “That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Yes. Just like that...”

  His arms contracted and his mouth opened, pressing her lips apart. His body was hardening as he held her. He hadn’t felt anything so powerful for a very long time. Her mouth was the sweetest honey he’d ever had.

  She felt the strength in his hard arms, the warmth of his muscular chest against her breasts. She moaned softly as sensations she’d never felt in her life lanced through her.

  He heard the soft moan and suddenly ground her breasts against him as the fever began to burn in him. That was when he felt her go stiff.

  He forced himself to lift his head. Her eyes were wide and shocked, and now there was fear in them. His eyes narrowed as he realized why. Her nipples were hard, like little stones pressing into his chest. Did she know why they were hard? he wondered. Because she acted like a woman with her first man.

  His chin lifted as he looked at her. He felt arrogant. “Have you ever had a man?” he asked in a deep, rough whisper.

  Her reaction shocked him. She made a sound like a sob deep in her throat and pushed at him, frantically. “Let me down. Let me down, please!”

  He put her on her feet. She looked up at him with anguish.

  The reaction set him off. He hadn’t meant to touch her. The way she was riding had frightened him, God knew why. He was only trying to keep her safe. But she backed away as if he’d done something unspeakable.

  His pale eyes narrowed. “Your love life is none of my business,” he said shortly. “But it’s a good act.”

  Her tongue felt thick. “Act?”

  His mouth pulled up into a cold, sarcastic smile. “The frightened virgin bit,” he explained. He slid his hands into his pockets, and hateful memories flooded his mind, of another brunette, coy and teasing and innocent. Except that she wasn’t innocent. She’d tormented him, shattered his life. It had started just like this.

  She wrapped her arms around her chest. She felt cold all over. Technically, she was still a virgin. But that was only due to a physical barrier that had stopped her stepfather long enough for Gabriel to break in the door.

  She closed her eyes, and a wave of pure nausea swept over her. She was back in that time, in that space, in her room, screaming for help that she never expected to come. Her mother had gone shopping. Gabriel was in school. Except that he’d left class early. Thank God he had!

  She shivered.

  Wolf, watching her, was torn by conflicting emotions. Part of him was ablaze with a monstrous desire to push her down in the grass and have her right there. Another, saner, part was certain that it was an act. A woman who traveled, was sophisticated and was of her age was afraid of kisses? She’d been putting on an act. In his car, after the opera, in the park and now here. Tempt him, pretend to be afraid to make him vulnerable. And then the knives would come out of hiding. Exactly as they had with Ysera.

  Ysera. His eyes closed on a silent groan. He’d loved her. What she’d done to him was beyond cruelty.

  Sara had turned
away. She climbed back into the saddle. She didn’t look at Wolf Patterson.

  “I’ve been riding horses since I was three years old,” she said through her teeth. “When I was younger, I did rodeo. I know how to handle horses.”

  “And now I know that, don’t I?” he said. He smiled at her. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was demeaning, arrogant. “Just for the record, I don’t like brunettes. You might have noticed that the women I date are blonde.”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “The frightened virgin bit won’t work again,” he added. “You’ll have to think of something a little more original. I’m an old fox, honey. I know women.”

  She felt a chill run down her spine. She lifted her chin. “Whatever you may think, I’m not in the mood for a torrid love affair, Mr. Patterson,” she said haughtily. “Least of all with you.”

  He only smiled. “You’d be lucky,” he drawled.

  She fought the memory of how gentle he’d been, how very tender. She didn’t want to remember. Her hand tightened on the reins. Then, involuntarily, she remembered what Gabriel had told her about Wolf’s mother, and she winced inwardly. The woman had done untold damage. No doubt there was some other woman, as well, more recently, who’d added to his scars. He was the most mistrustful person she’d ever known. She didn’t trust people, either, but she couldn’t talk to him. He disliked her. But why had he kissed her? She couldn’t understand the way he went from hot to cold and back again with her.

  He was studying the horse closely.

  “Something on your mind?” she asked coolly.

  “Couldn’t get the broom cranked?”

  Her black eyes flashed like lightning. “If I had a broom, I’d hit you with it!”

  “And you know what I’d do when you did, don’t you?” His voice was deep and caressing. His eyes were sensuous, like that firm, chiseled mouth, smiling at her as if he knew everything she was feeling. She could see in her mind what he was thinking, see him take the broom away and jerk her into his arms, and bend his head...

  She swallowed, hard, and fought down a new and disturbing hunger.

  “I have to go home.” She turned the horse with easy skill.

  “Time to feed the flying monkeys?”