by Unknown
"We've spent some time apart," he explained. "We're still in the learning stages, despite the engagement. We won't be long," he told Barrie.
"Take your time."
He hesitated, and Barrie knew why. She didn't want to give Leslie any excuse to taunt him. She went forward, sliding her arms around his waist and trying not to notice how he stiffened.
"Remember that you're engaged," she said in a stage whisper, and went on tiptoe to put her lips to his.
They were as cold as ice, like the eyes that never closed, even though he gave the appearance of returning her caress.
"We'll expect something special on the table when we get back," he said, and gently put her away from him.
Barrie felt empty somehow. She knew he wasn't capable of giving her a full response, but she'd hoped for more warmth than he'd shown her. He looked at her as if he hated her. Perhaps he still did.
Her sad eyes made him uncomfortable. He took Leslie's arm with a smile and led her out the door toward the garage behind the house.
"Trouble in your engagement already?" Leslie mused as they drove out of town in Dawson's new silver Mercedes. "I notice that you're suddenly very cool toward your fiancee. Of course, there is a rather large age difference between you, isn't there?"
Dawson only shrugged. "Every engagement has a few rough spots that need smoothing over," he said carelessly.
"This one was sudden."
"Not on my part," he replied as he slowed to make a turn.
"I begin to understand. Unrequited love?"
He laughed bitterly. "It seemed that way for a few years."
Leslie stared at him curiously, and then all at once she began laughing.
His eyebrows lifted in a silent query.
"I'm sorry." She choked through her laughter. "It's just that there were these rumors going around about you," she confessed. "I don't know why I even believed them."
"Rumors?" he asked, deadpan.
"Oh, they're too silly to repeat. And now they make sense. I suppose you simply gave up dating women you didn't care about."
He hadn't expected that Leslie might be so easy to placate about those rumors. He glanced at her, scowling.
She only smiled, and this time without overt flirting. "It's kind of sweet, really," she mused. "Barrie didn't suspect?"
He averted his eyes. "No."
"She still doesn't suspect, does she?" she asked curiously. "You're engaged, but she acts as if it's difficult for her even to kiss you. And don't think I was fooled by that very obvious lipstick smear on your handkerchief," she added with a grin. "There wasn't a trace of it on your face, or a red mark where you might have wiped it off. She's very nervous with you, and it shows."
He knew that, but he didn't like hearing it. "It's early days yet."
She nodded slowly. "You might consider that she has less experience with men than she pretends," she added helpfully. "She hasn't got that faint edge of sophistication most women of her age have acquired. I don't think she's very worldly at all."
He pulled the car into a parking spot in front of the old county courthouse. "You see a lot for someone who pretends to have a hard edge of her own," he said flatly, pinning her with his pale green eyes.
She leaned back in her comfortable seat. "I was in love with my husband," she said unexpectedly. "Everybody thought I married him for his money, because he was so much older than I was. It wasn't true. I married him because he was the first person in my life who was ever kind to me." Her voice became bitter with memories. "My father had no use for me, because he never believed I was his child. My mother hated me because I had to be taken care of, and she wanted to party. In the end, they both left me to my own devices. I fell in with bad company and got in trouble with the law." Her thin shoulders lifted and fell. "I was sentenced to a year in prison for helping my latest boyfriend steal some cigarettes. Jack Holton was in court at the time representing a client on some misdemeanor and he started talking to me during the recess." She smiled, remembering. "I was a hard case, but he was interested and very persistent. I was married before I knew it." She stared at her skirt, distracted by memories. "When he died, I went a little mad. I don't think I came to my senses until today." She looked up. "Barrie has something in her past, something that's hurt her. Go easy, won't you?"
He was surprised by her perception. But it was beyond him to admit to a relative stranger how Barrie had been hurt, and by whom. "I'll keep it in mind," he replied.
She smiled at him with genuine fondness. "I do like you, you know," she said. "You're a lot like Jack. But now that I know how things stand, you're off the endangered list. Now how much do you want to offer me for that tract of land?"
He chuckled. He hadn't expected it to be this easy, but he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth.
When he came back with Leslie, his arm around her shoulder and all smiles, Barrie was immediately on the defensive. She had all sorts of ideas about why they were both smiling and so relaxed with each other. She was furiously jealous and hurt, and she didn't know how to cope with her own reactions.
She was silent at the dinner table, withdrawn and introspective, speaking only when addressed. It was the first glimmer of hope that she'd given a pensive Dawson. If she could still feel jealous about him, there was hope that he hadn't killed all her feelings for him.
So he laid it on with Leslie.
"I think we ought to have a celebration party," he announced. "Friday night. We'll phone out invitations and have a dance. Corlie will love making the arrangements."
"Can she do it, on such short notice?" Leslie asked.
"Of course! Barrie will help, too, won't you?" he added with a smile in his fiancee's direction.
"Certainly," Barrie replied in a lackluster voice.
"I have some wonderful CDs, just perfect for dancing to," Leslie added. "Including some old forties torch songs," she added flirtatiously. "Do you dance, Barrie?" she asked.
"I haven't in quite some time," the other woman replied politely. "But I suppose it's like riding a bicycle, isn't it?"
"It will come back to you," Dawson assured her. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. "If you've forgotten the steps, I'm sure I can teach you."
She glanced up, flushing a little as she met his calculating stare. "I'm learning all the time," she said shortly.
He lifted an eyebrow and grinned at Leslie. "We'll have a good time," he promised her. "And now, suppose we go over that contract I had my attorney draw up, just to make sure it's in order? Barrie, you won't mind, will you?" he added.
Barrie lifted her chin proudly. "Certainly not," she replied. "After all, it's just business, isn't it?"
"What else would it be?" he drawled.
What else indeed! Barrie thought furiously as she watched him close the study door behind himself and the widow Holton.
She went up to her room and locked the door. She'd never been so furious in all her life. He'd wanted her to come here and pretend to be engaged to him to keep the widow at bay, and now he was behaving as if it were the widow he was engaged to! Well, he needn't expect her to stay and be a doormat! He could have his party Friday, and she'd be on her way out of town first thing Saturday morning. If he liked the widow, he could have her.
She lay down on the bed and tears filled her eyes. Who was she kidding? She still loved him. It was just like old times. Dawson knew how she felt and he was putting the knife into her heart again. What an idiot she'd been to believe anything he told her. He was probably laughing his head off at how easily he'd tricked her into coming here, so that he could taunt her some more. Apparently she was still being made to pay for his father's second marriage. And she'd hoped that he was learning to care for her. Ha! She might as well cut her losses. She'd tell him tomorrow, she decided. First thing.
Six
Barrie told Dawson that she'd be leaving after the party. Her statement was met with an icy silence and a glare that would have felled a lesser woman.
"We're
engaged," he said flatly.
"Are we?" She took off the emerald ring and laid it on his desk. "Try it on the widow's finger. Maybe it will fit her."
"You don't understand," he said through his teeth. "She's only selling me the tract. There's nothing to be jealous of."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Jealous?" she drawled sarcastically. "Why, Dawson, why should I be jealous? After all, I've got half a football team of men just panting to take me out back in Tucson."
He hadn't had a comeback. The remark threw him completely off-balance. By the time he regained it, cursing his own lack of foresight, she'd gone out the door. And until the night of the party, she kept him completely at bay with plastic smiles and polite conversation.
It had been a long Friday evening, and all Barrie wanted was to go back to her room and get away from Dawson. All night she'd watched women, mostly Leslie Holton, fawn over him while he smiled that cynical smile and ate up the attention. He wasn't backing away from Leslie tonight. Odd, that sudden change.
Barrie had been studiously avoiding both of them all night, so much so that Corlie, helping serve canapes and drinks, was scowling ominously at her. But Barrie couldn't help her coldness toward Dawson. She felt as if he'd sold her out all over again.
The surprise came when Leslie Holton announced that she was going to leave and went to her car instead of her room. Barrie watched from the doorway as Leslie reached up and kissed Dawson deliberately. And he didn't pull away, either. It was the last straw. She went back inside with bottled fury. Damn him!
He came back inside just as Barrie was saying goodbye to the last of their few guests. She tried to ease out, but while he said good-night to the departing guest, Dawson's arm came across the doorway and blocked her exit. He seemed to know that she'd withdraw instinctively from his touch, because he smiled without humor when she stepped back.
The visitor left. Dawson closed the door with a snap and turned to her, his narrow green eyes cold and calculating.
"Why?" she asked and tried not to sound afraid.
His eyes ran the length of her, from her loosened wavy dark hair to her trim figure and long, elegant legs in the short black dress.
"Maybe I'm tired of playing games," he said enigmatically.
"With me or Leslie Holton?" she demanded. "You don't know why I played up to Leslie?" he
drawled. "You can't guess?"
Her face colored delicately. "I don't want to know why.
I want to go to bed, Dawson," she said, measuring the
distance to the door.
He let out a long, weary sigh and moved closer, noticing with resignation her rigid posture and the fear that
came into her eyes.
"You run. I run. What the hell difference has it made?"
he asked. His hands shot out and caught her shoulders.
He pulled her to him, ignoring her struggles, and held her
against the lean warmth of his powerful body. "If I ruined your young life, you damn sure ruined mine," he said
under his breath, staring at her mouth. "I thought we
were getting closer and now we're worlds apart, all over
again. Come here.
Two neat whiskies had loosened all his inhibitions. He
dragged her to him without caring that he couldn't feel
anything physically. He could kiss her, at least... And he did, with aching need, his mind yielded to the
feel and touch and taste of her. He groaned as he drew her
even closer, feeling her go rigid against him as his mouth
parted her soft lips. But her resistance didn't stop him. He
gave in to his hunger without any thought except to show
her that he couldn't be aroused by even the most ardent
kiss.
But what he expected to happen, didn't. He drew her
hips to his and the sudden touch of her long legs against
his made him shudder and all at once, his body exploded
with hunger, need, anguished desire. His intake of breath
was audible, shocking as he felt a full, raging arousal for
the first time in almost five years.
He dragged his mouth from hers and looked down at
her with horror and dawning realization. The curse he
spat out shocked even Barrie, who'd heard them all at one time or another from very modern grammar school students. His face looked frightening and his hands tight
ened until they hurt.
She reacted purely with instinct, fighting the pain he
was unknowingly inflicting. She struggled away from him,
breathing roughly, rubbing the arms he'd held in that
steely grip.
He wasn't even aware of having hurt her. He just stood
there, glaring at her, shivering with the force of his desire
for her. He wanted her with pure obsession and she
couldn't bear him to touch her. It was ironic. Tragic. He'd
only just discovered that he was still capable with one
woman at least, and she had to be the one woman on earth
who couldn't bear him to touch her.
He stared at her with narrow, bitter eyes. "God, that
was all it needed!" he said in anguish, his face tormented
as he met her eyes. "That was damn all!"
He was looking at her as if he hated her, with wild eyes,
while she stood gaping at him. He'd said he couldn't feel
anything! She didn't realize that she'd said it aloud. He ran a rough hand through his wavy blond hair and
drew it over his brow as he turned away. "I thought I was
dead from the waist down, that I was immune to any
woman. I never realized why, even if I suspected it.. .I
might as well be dead!" he said huskily. "My God, I
might as well be!"
He threw open the door and went out it as if he'd forgotten Barrie's presence altogether, reaching his car in
long, angry strides. He jerked the door open, started it,
and took off.
Barrie watched him as if she were a sleepwalker until it
suddenly dawned on her that he was acting totally unlike
himself. She'd seen him down two neat whiskies, but
would that have been enough to make him lose control so
completely?
"Dawson," she said to herself, because he was already
out of sight.
She stood helplessly in the doorway, trying to decide
what to do. He was in no condition to be driving. How
could she go to bed now? On the other hand, how could
she stay down here? He might be even more violent when
he returned. She remembered, oh, too well, what Dawson was like when he was out of control. Corlie and Rodge
had gone to bed. She couldn't bear the thought of being
alone with him... But the way he'd driven off had been
frightening too. What if he hurt himself?
With a concern that grew by the minute, she rushed to
get her wrap and purse and the keys to Dawson's MG that
hung by the back door. She'd drive down the road, she
thought, just to make sure he hadn't run into a ditch or
something. That would make her feel better. And if she
didn't see him, she could assume that he was all right and
go back to her room. Not that it was going to make her
stop worrying. She'd never seen him so shaken, so wild.
Dawson never lost control. Well, only that once. But even
that hadn't been such a total loss of reason. The alcohol
would have made it worse, too.
Her mind made up, she started off in the general direction Dawson had taken. The headlights of the sports car
picked up nothing on the side of the road for at least two
miles down the d
eserted highway, and she breathed a sigh
of relief. He was probably on his way back to the house
even...
Her heart jumped when she saw the flashing lights over
the next rise. She knew, somewhere deep inside her, that
Dawson was where they were. She stepped on the accelerator and began to pray as a cold sickness grew in the pit
of her stomach.
It could have been worse, but not much. The car had
overturned. She caught sight of skid marks on the black
pavement, and the sheriff's deputy patrol car on the side of the road. Even as she pulled off the road and stopped,
she could hear an ambulance in the distance.
She threw the MG out of gear and left it idling and ran
frantically to the median where Dawson's Jaguar lay
crushed with its wheels in the air.
"Dawson!" she screamed. Her heart was beating so
fast that she shook with it. "Oh, God!"
The sheriff's deputy stopped her headlong flight. "Let me go." She wept piteously, fighting him. "Please,
please...!"
"You can't help him like this," he said firmly. "You
recognize the car?"
"It's Dawson," she whispered. "Dawson Rutherford.
My stepbrother... is he.. . dead?"
It seemed forever before he answered. "Not yet," he
said. "Calm down."
She looked up at him in the glare of the flashing lights.
"Please!" she whispered, reduced to begging as she
tugged against his firm hold. "Oh, God, please,
please...!"
The officer was basically a kind man, and that look
would have touched a career criminal. With a rough sigh,
he let go of her.
Heart pounding savagely, eyes wide with fear, she ran
headlong to the car, where Dawson lay in a curious position in the wreckage. Blood was coming from somewhere. When she touched his jacket, she felt it on her
hands. She knew not to try to move him. His face was
turned away. She touched his hair with trembling hands.
It was icy cold, like the skin on his face. Her hands cradled what she could reach of him, as if by touching and
holding, she could keep him alive.
"You mustn't...die," she whispered brokenly.
