by Helen Conrad
Turning back towards the house, she dipped her brush into the paint and spread it on the wood, not seeing what she was doing any longer. She heard the car come to a stop, then the car door slam, but still she didn’t look. She knew he was standing at the foot of the ladder, and she was achingly aware of how she looked with her hair tied back in a pony-tail and paint streaking her bare arms and legs, not to mention what was probably splashed all over her face.
But that didn’t matter, she told herself sharply. That didn’t matter a bit. She wasn’t trying to attract him. Quite the opposite. The grubbier she looked, the better.
And yet, deep down, it mattered very much.
“What the hell are you doing?”
His voice, when it came at last, made her jump, even though she’d been expecting it. Dreading it. Anticipating it every second she waited. His tone was incredulous and just a little angry.
She lifted her chin, still not looking at him. He had no right to come here, let alone to talk to her this way. He deserved a little sarcasm. “I’m up here preparing to launch a yellow zeppelin on a quick flight around the world. Can’t you tell?” She risked a glance down to where he stood below her. “Why? What does it look like I’m doing?”
He was wearing dark glasses and she couldn’t see his eyes. “It looks very much as though you’re wasting your time and energy, as well as a great deal of money on supplies, on a structure that is due to be demolished by the end of the summer.”
She continued painting, slapping the brush against the surface with angry thumps. “That just goes to prove the old saying about the eye of the beholder, doesn’t it?” she said evenly.
He paused. “I thought that was about beauty. Which is hardly relevant here.”
She bit her lip. The urge to snap at him came and went and she avoided falling into temptation. She was done with bickering. It hadn’t done her any good. She’d been thinking hard about it and she wondered if it wasn’t time to try sweet reason instead. Sincerity. Maybe even a little begging.
But that would only come later, if all else failed.
“No,” she told him with what she hoped was serene composure. “It’s about different people each perceiving the same thing as being quite different. It’s about point of view.”
She was out of paint. She was going to have to go down and fill her bucket again, but she didn’t want to do it until he left. So she continued wiping her empty brush against the house, hoping he wouldn’t notice it was dry.
“Shawnee.” His voice was strained. “This is an exercise in futility. Come down here and let’s have a talk.”
Very carefully, she placed her brush in the paint pan and leaned against the top of the ladder, looking at where David stood. It would be much better to stay where she was; she knew that. Once she’d come down, he would be tall and wide and strong and so very close, and she wouldn’t have a chance.
“Talk away,” she said. “I can hear you beautifully from here.”
He stood with legs set wide and his mouth was a thin, hard line in his tanned face. The sun beat down on his black hair, casting a halo of golden light about his head. He wore grey slacks that fitted as though tailored just for him, and for all she knew, they were. His white shirt was open at the neck. She remembered his warmth and had to close her eyes for a split second.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” she said quickly, praying he hadn’t noticed her reaction.
“I was hoping to get you to see the sense of my position,” he said at last, pulling up the sunglasses and lodging them on his head. “But I see your stand on the matter is harder than ever.”
She looked up at the horizon, at the purple line at the top of the hills. “My stand, as you call it, is that my grandfather’s peace of mind is the most important thing and has to be accommodated,” she replied. “I’m willing to discuss anything that leads to that outcome. I’m open to alternatives.”
“There are no alternatives.”
She reached for the brush and began slapping it against the wood again, hoping she looked busy and not angry. She was working hard on this new attitude. But it wasn’t easy, especially since she wanted David to go quickly, before her grandfather started back. She threw an apprehensive glance at the stables.
David’s mouth quirked impatiently. “Shawnee, you’re acting irrationally. I can’t let you do this. It’s ridiculous.”
She tried to smile. “Consider it therapy for my mental health,” she said. “And just let me be.”
Brave words, but she knew they were sheer bravado. He took hold of the legs of the ladder and she gasped and clutched on to the top, knowing he could shake her down if he chose to do so.
She had no doubt he was tempted. The ladder shook a bit, but he didn’t give it a real push. Instead, he relied on argument.
“Do you think it’s fair to give your grandfather false hope?” he asked her. “Don’t you think all this sprucing up is going to make the inevitable that much worse?”
“Nothing is inevitable,” she declared, holding on for dear life. “And you’d better not shake this ladder or you’ll end up with a paint can on your head.”
The can was empty, but he couldn’t know that for sure. The picture she conjured of David standing below her, dripping white paint all over the porch, was delightful. Too bad it could never come true.
“You could use a good shaking,” he told her grumpily. “But not this way.” He let go of the ladder and stepped back.
“Thank you,” she said, relaxing just a little. “Now please go. I don’t want my grandfather to see you and get all excited again.”
He looked up at her, eyes clouded with mixed emotions. “Will you come with me?”
She gasped softly. What was he thinking? “Of course not. I’ve got work to do.” She pretended to stir her brush in the non-existent paint.
He moved restlessly, feet stirring the dust. “I wish you would come down here so I could talk to you properly.”
She looked down. “You mean so you could overpower me with your logic, don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow, letting him know she was onto his tricks. “And we both know what your logic covers. You’ve tried it before.”
His mouth twisted in the beginnings of a smile. “Not successfully, though. That much is obvious.” He sighed, “Shawnee, come and take a ride. A walk. Anything. I just want to be with you for a little bit. We won’t even discuss this property, or your grandfather.”
A part of her yearned to go with him, to forget everything else. But how could she do that? If she went with him now, it would be that much harder to pull away again. They were both better off without the complications a relationship would bring with it. She was just about to tell him so when a shout split the air between them.
“Hey, you!” Granpa Jim was coming towards them at a limping trot from the direction of the stables. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
Shawnee began to scramble down the ladder, bent on getting David into his car and off her grandfather’s property as quickly as possible. “He’s just going,” she called, turning to look at David with a mixture of impatience and pleading. “Go, hurry,” she urged him, reaching out to give him a little push. “Please get out of here. He’ll get so upset . . .”
David stopped her, holding firm, taking hold of her shoulders. She couldn’t see what he was thinking because he’d shoved the dark glasses down over his eyes again. “Wait a minute,” he murmured, turning his attention towards her grandfather.
“No!” she said urgently. “I can get him quieted down if you’ll just go! You confused him completely the other day, made him think people were out to get him. He’ll just think it’s true if he sees you here . . .”
David’s mouth twisted in a humorless grin. “It’s a little too late to keep him from seeing me,” he reminded her. “Hello, Mr. Carrington,” he said as Granpa Jim came to a dusty stop before them. “How are you, sir?”
“Just what do you think you’re doing here?” the older man sputt
ered. “You don’t belong here.”
David released Shawnee and turned to face Granpa Jim fully, but he didn’t say anything right away. It seemed as though he was at a loss as to how Granpa Jim should be approached.
Granpa snorted and jabbed at David’s chest with a forefinger. “Why aren’t you out tending to getting the shoeing done on that new bunch of mares we brought in from Santa Maria? Isn’t that what I told you to do this morning?”
Shawnee put a hand to her mouth. He thought this was one of his ranch hands. How could he possibly think that, seeing the way David was dressed? And what would he do when David explained who he really was? She tried to think of something to say to stop the flow of disillusionment she could see rushing in to sweep them along, but words didn’t come.
The moment hung in the air. What was David going to do? If he tried to drag the older man back into reality, how was he going to react? Her heart was breaking.
As she watched, holding her breath, David straightened, plunging his hands into his pockets and widening his stance. To Shawnee’s amazement, he took on the look of a cowboy before her eyes, even though he wasn’t dressed for the part.
“Yessir,” he drawled slowly, bobbing his head in respect, not glancing at her. “I finished that, Mr. Carrington. I thought I’d come on back and help your granddaughter with the house painting, if that’s all right with you.”
Shawnee’s jaw dropped. He was playing along! His quick intelligence had grasped what was wrong, on just where Granpa Jim’s mind was floating, and he understood. She stared at David as though she’d never seen him before. He’d picked up what was happening and hadn’t skipped a beat.
She looked at him suspiciously. Was he laughing at her grandfather? No. She couldn’t detect the least bit of scorn.
Granpa Jim was shrugging. “All right. Why not?” he muttered, suddenly a little confused. “She could use the help. I’m too old to be much use to her now, you know.” He waved a hand at them, turning towards the house. “You two get this painting done, then,” he allowed. “I’m going to go in and work on some figures.”
“Working on some figures” was an excuse to take a nap. Shawnee watched until he disappeared into the house, then turned to David, not sure just what she should say. She felt a bright rush of affection for the man and what he’d just done. But she didn’t want him to think that blotted out everything else. Because it couldn’t possibly.
“You can go on,” she said huskily. “He won’t come back out, and if he does, he’ll probably have forgotten all about it.”
He grinned at her. “Are you kidding? I said I was going to help you paint. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right. “I’m really, seriously painting this house,” she reminded him. “I’m going to work on it until it’s finished.”
He shook his head. “It’s a damn fool idea, but if you must, I’m going to help you do it.” He stripped off his shirt before her eyes, hanging it on a nearby limb. His shoulders were wide and tanned in the sunlight and when he shrugged them, she wanted to reach out and touch the heat of his skin. He looked wonderful without a shirt. Almost too good to be true.
She looked away, hoping he couldn’t read the admiration in her eyes. She was angry with him and half in love with him at the same time. That made for a very confusing jumble of emotions inside. She had to keep her head.
David had taken off his shirt, so at least he wouldn’t tear or dirty it in helping her. But he still wore a pair of impeccable slacks and fine leather shoes that would be destroyed if paint got on them.
“You’re going to ruin your clothes,” she protested, then narrowed her eyes and added, partly in jest, partly in sincere rebuff, “Or maybe you Santiagos are so rich, you just don’t have to worry about things like that.”
He wasn’t going to let her get his goat. “You could look at it that way,” he acknowledged, cocking his head to the side. He pulled off the dark glasses and his eyes were a piercing force she could hardly face. “Or you could say,” he continued softly, “that I want to be with you so much, I’ll risk anything—any time. Personally, I prefer that version.”
She swallowed. Was he really prepared to help her paint when he thought the whole project was utterly absurd? It seemed so.
“Here,” she said gruffly, handing him the paint can. “Go and fill this. And this time, you can take the ladder.”
He grinned again. “You still don’t trust me?”
She didn’t bother to answer, turning away so he wouldn’t see the smile she couldn’t hide any longer, the full, glowing smile that would telegraph how happy she was. There were still problems between them—big, impossible, problems—but for this afternoon, she would let herself feel the happiness his presence would create. After all, maybe she deserved it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A SUMMER PICNIC
The time flew by. Shawnee wasn’t sure if it went so quickly because David worked so fast, or because she seemed to be operating, mind and body both, at a supercharged level of excitement with him so near. But somehow, the hours melted away. David painted more than competently, and Shawnee found she had only to come behind, working on the trim with a smaller brush, and before they knew it, the exterior of the little house was finished.
“It doesn’t look half bad,” David admitted as they stood back in the yard and examined it. “We make quite a team. Maybe we should go into the house-painting business. ‘Santiago and Carrington, Experts in Exterior Design’.”
It sounded odd to hear those names spoken together. Odd, but strangely appealing. She looked at him, noting the streak of beige color that outlined his long nose like Indian war paint. “How about ‘Carrington and Santiago, the Two Stooges’?” she laughed, reaching up to brush away some flakes of paint from his chest.
He caught her hand, holding it to him. “How about ‘Santiago and Carrington, the two lovers’?” he said softly. “And how about making that title come true?”
She stared up into his dark gaze, wondering at the ease with which he threw her off balance every time. He played with her, teased her, acted the part of a friend. Then, just when she was lulled into a false feeling of security, the passion that lay behind his light-hearted manner came bubbling up, shocking her again, sending out a sense of the strength of the physical tie that held them, both bound and helpless.
He wanted her, but no more than she wanted him. And yet, she had to hold back. There was no other way. If she gave in to this temptation, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
“David . . .” She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“I’ve tried to forget about you,” he said with low, dark urgency. “I’ve told myself you were right, that we didn’t belong together.” His free hand cupped her chin. “But I can’t seem to believe it. Not when I can feel you here, waiting for me.” He shrugged. “I tried to stay away. But I can’t.”
His words thrilled her almost as much as his touch. Still, a part of her was warning her to keep her head. She remembered what Allison had said that day in the barn. “I’ve never known a girl yet who could resist David,” she’d remarked. Was that all it was? Was David fascinated by a woman who told him to stay away?
“It’s inevitable, Shawnee,” he continued, his voice a husky embrace of her senses. He bent his head so that he almost touched her upturned face. “Can’t you feel it?”
She could feel it. That she couldn’t deny. And she could feel the building crescendo of his heartbeat, just beneath her hand. She could feel the heat of his blood, the stirring of his masculine need. Her breath caught in her throat and she gasped as he pulled her close.
His gaze explored her eyes, her lips, and then he lowered slowly to kiss her. She couldn’t move. It felt as though everything stood still around her. The wind died down and even the birds stopped their chirping. There was nothing, nothing . . . nothing but the tender warmth of his mouth opening on hers. Her body clung t
o his, molding to his hard length like a curling breeze, living for him like a flame.
How easy it would be to let this feeling sweep her away. She had only to react the way her body wanted her to. She had only to close off her mind, to forget what lay between them. For just a moment, she was tempted. But deep down, she knew with a sense of dread what would happen if she did what she wanted so badly to do. The payment would be far too steep.
“David,” she moaned, trying to pull away from the steel web of his embrace. “David, please don’t!”
He kissed her chin, her neck, the sensitive area behind her ear, and then he reluctantly drew back. “I can’t wait much longer,” he murmured, still holding her close. “You and I have begun something that can’t be stopped. And you know it as well as I do.” He looked down into her eyes. “Don’t you?”
She avoided his eyes, shivering slightly. “Not here,” she whispered. “Not now.”
She could feel him harden. “Then where?” he asked, his voice growing harsher. “When?”
She pulled out of his arms, turning away. How could she answer that? If she said “never— nowhere” he wouldn’t accept it. And yet she couldn’t give him any other answer.
“Hey.” His voice was light again, as though he’d regained some control over his emotions. He touched her arm gently, and she turned to look back at him. “Did I mention that I want you?” he asked softly, a slight smile curling his wide mouth, “And that I think about you all the time?”
She felt herself flush. Now, why would she flush at a time like this? It was silly. And yet, there it was.
He was throwing her off balance again. One minute he was demanding, the next, a gentle stranger. She didn’t know how to build defenses against someone who changed tactics with every shift in the wind.
She managed a crooked smile. “Did I mention that you have paint on your nose?” she replied. “We ought to wash-up.”
He followed her reluctantly, but at least he seemed to be ready to let the matter drop for the moment.
