Lara could tell by Shadow’s actions that Carson was pacing them along the ridgeline. He knew the land as well as she did. Soon the valley would narrow to a ravine that opened into the Rocking B’s home pasture. Another path intersected that ravine, the path that Carson was on. Long before the safety of the pasture was reached, she would be trapped. She would have to see Carson up close, talk to him, acknowledge him in some way – and she had promised herself that she wouldn’t have to do any of those things until she was ready. She was not ready. Not now, when she was seeing her home for the first time since Cheyenne’s death. Not now, when she was having to say hello and goodbye to so much. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after. Next week. Next month. But not now. She was too vulnerable. She had always been too vulnerable with Carson.
Although Lara gave no signal that the distant rider would be able to see, Shadow suddenly veered left, sliding on her hocks down the steep, grassy hillside with the agility that made her a great rough-country horse. Bear Creek was conquered in a long leap, and then the mare settled in for some serious running. Lara bent low over Shadow’s neck, feeling her braid come apart until her long hair unfurled in the wind like a black silk flag. Although she never looked back, she could tell the exact instant when the fleet little mare took her out of Carson’s sight because the feeling of being watched went away. Slowly, gently, Lara brought Shadow back to a lope, secure in her freedom from Carson’s presence.
Only later did Lara wonder what Carson had been doing on Chandler land. As far as she knew, he had never so much as ridden across the homestead. Perhaps that was the explanation – he was getting acquainted with a part of the Rocking B that was now his to manage. That would be like Carson. Whatever she might think of him personally, there was no doubt about his qualifications to manage a ranch. During the years since his father’s stroke, Carson had proven his ability to make the land and the business thrive. He was a Blackridge in everything but blood.
Unfortunately, blood had been all that had mattered to the man who had adopted Carson. Blood hadn’t mattered enough for Larry Blackridge to divorce his wife and marry the woman who had given him a daughter, though. Lara had often wondered why. Like her illegitimate birth, Larry’s obsession with a blood heir was well-known. Lara had never asked her grandfather to explain the actions of her mother’s lover, or to explain her mother’s continuing love for a man who would father a child and then never acknowledge it. That subject was the one topic that had been guaranteed to make sadness replace laughter on Cheyenne’s weathered face. In the end Lara had stopped wondering and simply accepted her parents’ mysteriously interwoven lives as she accepted the summer lightning or the crystalline patterns of ice forming at the edges of autumn creeks. The reality of ice and lightning she understood. The mystery of them remained untouched, untouchable.
By the time Lara reached the broad river valley that was the heart of the Rocking B, she felt calmer, almost ashamed of having fled Carson. He had probably been as surprised to come across her as she had been to see him. And he had probably been relieved when she chose another trail, making it unnecessary for either of them to have a travesty of polite conversation. Surely he could be no more eager to confront her than she was to confront him. In fact, she was certain that it was a tribute to her faculty advisor’s persuasive charms that she was on the ranch at all. She could just imagine what Carson had had to say on the subject of an informal “family” history of the Rocking B done by Larry Blackridge’s bastard.
The sound of a long “Yoooooo!” called Lara out of her thoughts. She turned and saw a man standing in his stirrups, waving his hat in wide sweeps to catch her attention. She recognized Willie and turned Shadow quickly toward the cowhand. As the horses came alongside, he bent over to give her a quick hug.
“You get prettier every time I see you, Lara. Got your mother’s eyes, and God knows He never made nothing more blue. How’s the city treating you?”
“I got a reprieve from concrete,” Lara said, standing in the stirrups so she could reach Willie’s dark cheek with a kiss. “I’m on the ranch until Carson’s patience runs out or I pump the cowhands dry of Rocking B stories – whichever comes first.”
“Hell’s fire, gal, we ain’t never gonna run out of tales, and that’s a fact. Looks like you’re here forever and a day. We’re all champing and prancing in place, just waiting for you to unlimber your tape recorder and make us famous.”
“I don’t want to interfere with your work,” Lara said quickly, voicing the same fear that she had to her advisor. She didn’t want to do anything that would call down Carson’s attention, much less his wrath.
“Now don’t you get to worrying about Carson,” Willie said, patting Lara’s hand with his gnarled, work-scarred fingers. “He’s already told the hands that he’s all for helping to educate the dumb bas
– er, city folks – that wouldn’t know which end of a horse bit and which kicked. He told us to be right helpful to you. Not that we wouldn’t have anyways. Cheyenne’s granddaughter is solid gold in these parts, and Carson knows it.”
Lara gave Willie a dubious look. “Carson told you to help me? Are we speaking of the same Carson Harrington Blackridge?”
“The exact same fellow,” Willie said, nodding firmly. Lara made a sound that could have meant anything and nothing.
“Now I ain’t saying that he don’t have a few blind spots, same as anyone,” continued Willie, patting Lara’s shoulder in silent understanding. “He’s a hard man but a good one, and the best damn ramrod this outfit has seen since it registered the brand – and that includes your granddaddy Cheyenne.”
Lara gave Willie a startled look.
He nodded firmly. “And what’s more, Cheyenne was the first to say so. Cheyenne didn’t have no patience for computers telling a man what to do when it rains, or for cows throwing calves by bulls they never, er, met. Carson’s not crazy about them computers, neither, but he knows what the ranch needs, and he sees that it gets it.”
For a moment Lara didn’t know what to say. Then she spoke in a soft, husky voice. “I’m glad Carson is good for the ranch. This land deserves someone who knows and loves it for what it is. The Rocking B is alive, just like we are, and it needs care. If you care for it, it will take care of you. Granddad knew that, and he taught it to me.”
Willie’s narrowed, dark eyes searched Lara’s face, seeing both truth and sadness in her expression. “If n you were to ask, I’m sure Carson would let you stay on at the homestead as long as you want. Hell, he said as much to me after the Queen Bi – er, after his mother died.”
Lara almost smiled at Willie’s slip of the tongue. Sharon Harrington Blackridge – known to the hands as the Queen Bitch – had been a difficult woman to get along with. But then, she had had reason. It couldn’t have been easy on her knowing that her husband’s mistress and bastard were living on the ranch less than a mile away from her home. Lara didn’t know why Mrs. Blackridge hadn’t divorced her husband. Certainly there hadn’t seemed to be much love lost between them, even after Becky Chandler had died. The Blackridges’ enduring marriage was another mystery from Lara’s childhood that she hadn’t pursued as she grew up, another part of her personal history that was defined by silence rather than understanding.
“If n you don’t believe me,” Willie continued earnestly, “just ask Carson.”
“No,” Lara said quickly. She smiled to take the edge off her refusal. “More than a hundred years ago, Jedediah Chandler saved Edward Blackridge from being mauled by a grizzly. The Chandlers have lived for a long time on that. The old debt has been more than repaid.”
Willie grunted and pulled his hat lower, a gesture Lara knew well from her childhood. He disagreed, but he wasn’t going to argue the point directly. “Mebbe,” he muttered under his breath. “But that don’t say spit about new debts, do it?”
Lara pretended she hadn’t heard because she knew that Willie hadn’t meant her to hear. None of the hand
s had ever spoken to her about the circumstances of her birth or the man who was her father. Willie might compliment Lara on having her mother’s blue eyes, but he would never mention the source of Lara’s black hair, widow’s peak and full mouth.
“What I thought I’d do,” Lara said, her voice cheerful and determined, “is talk to the hands in the evenings after dinner. During the day I can go through Cheyenne’s journals and take pictures of the ranch and read various documents that are part of the ranch history. And transcribe tapes,” she added, sighing. That was one thing she wasn’t looking forward to. Hours and hours and hours of typing when she would rather be out riding.
“Sure glad that steer ain’t wearing my brand,” Willie said, shaking his head. “These fingers never got the hang of a pencil. A rope, now,”
he nodded, smiling. “In my day, I was the champion roper of eight counties. Roped anything that moved.” He settled more comfortably in the saddle, dug out a twist of chewing tobacco and bit off a hunk.
“Did I ever tell you about the time the boys bet me I couldn’t rope Larry’s spotted bull? That old bull was the fastest, meanest – “ Willie looked up suddenly as he caught movement at the comer of his eye.
“Wonder what Carson wants.”
Lara had seen the movement, too, and had recognized the big Appaloosa cantering toward them. “He’s probably going to chew on me for keeping you from your work. See you later, Willie. I’d better get back and get to work myself.”
A nudge of Lara’s heels sent Shadow loping off across the huge pasture. There were three gates between her and the homestead on the roundabout route she had hurriedly chosen to avoid Carson. The last gate was in an isolated draw above the homestead. The draw was little more than a crease in the land where the wind gathered until it bent the grass in supple waves, like a hand stroking thick fur. The sound of the wind was like fur, too, cool and smooth and soft.
The beauty of the place was lost on Lara as she rounded the shoulder of a hill at a canter and dropped into the hidden crease. When she saw the rider dismounted by the gate, waiting for her, her first impulse was to spin Shadow on her hocks and gallop off in another direction. Any other direction. She would have done just that, too, but her body wouldn’t respond to the frantic messages of her mind. Carson Blackridge was less than ten feet away from her. She hadn’t been that close to him in years. Nearly four years, to be exact. She had been naked then. She felt naked now.
“Hello, Lara. Welcome home.”
Chapter Two
For long moments Lara simply stared at Carson. His eyes looked very green as he watched her, but she knew that at night, in lamplight, his eyes would be nearly gold. And in passion, nearly black. Or had it been contempt rather than passion that had darkened his eyes when he looked at her, touched her, undressed her?
“Carson.”
The word was forced past stiff lips. Lara said nothing more, for the only words she had for him were from the hurtful past, like the images swirling up out of the locked-away places in her mind, memories she had spent years trying to forget.
He hadn’t changed. He was still big, still powerful, still able to make her heart turn inside out with a look. It had shocked her to see him standing there waiting for her. It was still shocking her, ripping away the careful layers of control built so painfully through the years, leaving nothing but naked vulnerability.
She had loved him. He had not loved her. She had told herself that she had gotten over that and him. She had been wrong. The scar tissue wasn’t thick enough over the old wounds. He could still hurt her. Carson’s hand flashed out, grabbing Shadow’s bridle in the instant before Lara would have spun the horse around and fled.
“Easy, baby, easy,” he murmured.
At first Lara thought that Carson was speaking to her. Then she saw his big hand stroking Shadow’s neck and realized that he was trying to soothe the mare, who had sensed the sudden race of fear in her rider. As Lara watched Carson, the years collapsed and she saw again that same hand so gentle on her own body, stroking away her fear as he had slowly unbuttoned her blouse and slid his hand inside. She had loved his hands then, so big, so warm, so unexpectedly tender.
With a shudder Lara looked away, fighting memories, fighting battles she thought she had already won – or at least had survived.
“Let go,” she said, her voice little more than a harsh whisper.
“Look at me.”
Lara’s refusal was written in every tight line of her body. Carson waited, then said quietly, “I made a mistake four years ago, Lara. I’m not going to let you make one now. Look at me.”
Her head turned sharply. Wisps of black hair blew across her face, but they didn’t conceal her surprise. “What?”
Carson’s fingers closed over Lara’s right hand. Gently he raised her palm to his mouth. His teeth pressed into the pad of flesh at the base of her thumb in a sweet, wild caress that sent a burst of sensation through her, igniting fires that had slept for years. When his tongue traced the tiny indentations in her skin left by his teeth, she forgot to breathe. Slowly his lips came to rest on her inner wrist, where her pulse beat frantically.
“That’s what I’m talking about, little fox,” Carson said deeply, looking at her.
Lara tried to pull her hand free.
“I want to start all over again,” Carson said, holding on to her hand, his grip as gentle and implacable as his voice. “I wanted to do it nice and slow, but you wouldn’t let me. You’ve done everything but dive down a prairie-dog hole to avoid me.” He released her fingers, frowning as she snatched back her hand. “We’re going to strike a bargain, Lara. If you stop running from me, I’ll continue to give you the freedom of the Rocking B to work on your history. And that includes the documents and photos I have at the big house.”
For a few seconds Lara could only stare. She had desperately wanted those family archives for her history but had been afraid to ask for them. The first Blackridge had been a photo buff at a time when photography was still an arcane art requiring a wagonload of equipment. Other Blackridges had been equally fascinated by photos. There were pictures up at the house that were literally priceless records of a time and a style of living that would never come again. All of Lara’s life she had wanted to be allowed to see those photos, but Larry Blackridge had kept the collection locked away from everyone, even his unacknowledged daughter, the last living Blackridge. The thought of being allowed access to that treasure trove was literally breathtaking to someone who loved history as much as Lara did.
Carson saw the look on Lara’s face and smiled. “I thought that would do it. You really like the idea of getting your hands on those photos, don’t you?”
She nodded slowly, knowing it was only the truth.
“Enough to stop running?”
Helplessly Lara nodded again.
“What happened four years ago won’t happen again,” Carson said, his voice deep, his eyes pinning her. “I never make the same mistake twice.”
Lara didn’t know which surprised her more – Carson’s promise or the implication that she had just agreed to take up precisely where they had left off four years ago. She had not agreed to that at all. She would never permit herself to be that vulnerable again. The mere idea of it terrified her.
“Carson, I didn’t agree to – to – “ Lara made a helpless gesture with her hand as words failed her.
“Sleep with me?” Carson supplied smoothly, his smile a slash of white across his tanned face. “I know. I just wanted you to be certain that there’s no reason to run from me anymore. That’s all in the past, dead and buried. I’m going to make damn sure it stays that way.”
“Why?” asked Lara, not understanding. For nearly four years she hadn’t had any contact with Carson. Nor had he appeared to want any. Now he was offering to… Exactly what was he offering to do?
For a moment Carson’s face shifted into a hard expression that warned of
both his famous temper and his equally famous determination. “Like I said, I made a mistake. That’s all I’m going to say about it. It’s history, Lara, and unlike you, I never look back.”
Carson’s words were clipped, final. Lara knew that the subject was closed and it would stay that way, no matter what her wishes might be. Confused, more than a little angry, she watched as he turned and opened the gate for her.
“I’ll be around in the evenings if you want to go through the photos,” he said. “Anytime after dinner is fine.”
The thought of spending evenings with Carson shocked Lara’s tongue into action.
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. If you’ll just point out the boxes, I’ll take it from there.”
Carson’s head snapped up. Beneath the dark brim of his hat, his eyes were like pale green crystal viewed through an amber lens.
“Running already?” he asked softly. “Is that how you plan on keeping your end of the bargain?”
Lara opened her mouth, but no words came out. She swallowed and said tightly, “I have no desire to be alone with you, Carson. Surely that can’t come as a surprise to you.”
For an instant Carson’s eyes closed, and an expression that could have been either pain or anger tightened his face into grim lines. When his eyes opened, they were bleak.
“For God’s sake, I’m not going to attack you,” he said flatly.
“What happened a minute ago was more of a warning than a seduction. I’m a hunter. If you run, I chase – and I catch what I chase. If you stop running, I’ll stop cornering you.” Carson’s mouth shifted into a hard smile. “So relax. I’m not exactly starved for female companionship, if that’s what’s worrying you. There are more than enough women around who don’t run the other way when they see me coming.”
Sweet Wind, Wild Wind Page 2
