Ethan

by Diana Palmer

  "Ethan's always wanted you," the older woman said surprisingly. "He should have married you in­stead of letting your father spirit you away. He was never happy with Miriam. I've always felt that she was just a stopgap for him, a poor substitute for you. Per­haps Miriam realized it, and that was what went wrong."

  "Wanting isn't loving." Arabella twisted her purse in her lap. "I may not be sophisticated, but I know that."

  "You look pretty uptown to me today," Coreen comforted with a smile. "That sundress is very at­tractive, and I like the way you're wearing your hair. Ethan certainly noticed," she added wickedly.

  "I thought Miriam was getting his undivided atten­tion this morning and he wasn't snarling at her."

  "Men get funny when they start thinking about marriage," Coreen assured her. "Now, stop worry­ing. Ethan knows what he's doing."

  But did he? Arabella wondered. She might be help­ing him to make an even bigger mistake than he had before.

  And when they got back to the ranch, she found more cause than ever to be concerned. Betty Ann was coming down the staircase with a tray when Coreen and Arabella walked in with the huge dress box.

  "What are you doing carrying a tray upstairs at this hour?" Coreen asked the housekeeper, and frowned.

  Arabella had a faint premonition even as Betty Ann spoke.

  "Ethan fell," Betty Ann said tersely. "Had to be took to the hospital and X-rayed, with herself—" she jerked her head toward the staircase "—hanging on him for dear life." .

  "Is he all right?" Coreen asked the question for both of them.

  "Mild concussion, nothing really serious. They wanted to keep him overnight, but he insisted on coming home." The housekeeper sighed. "He's been up in his room ever since, with herself hovering, and when he wasn't demanding things, he was cussing." She glanced warily at Arabella. "I don't know what Miriam told him, but he's been anxious to see Ara­bella. Too anxious and too angry."

  Arabella felt her knees going weak. Could her fa­ther have called back and told Ethan about the check he'd demanded? She knew Ethan would be furious. She just hadn't counted on him finding out so quickly. How had he found out?

  "I guess I'd better go up and see him," she mur­mured.

  "We both will," Coreen said shortly.

  They marched upstairs. Ethan was lying on top of his bed with a faint gash on his forehead that had been stitched, making a red-and-black pattern on the dark skin. He was fully clothed, and Miriam was sitting with an angelic look by his bedside. The ministering angel.

  "So you finally came back," Ethan began, glaring at Arabella. "I hope you enjoyed your shopping trip."

  "You knew we were going to get my wedding gown," she said, mildly defensive.

  "It's lovely, too, one of their most expensive," Co­reen seconded. "A designer gown. . ."

  "Yes, I had one of theirs when I was married," Miriam said with a demure flirting glance at Ethan, "Didn't I, darling?"

  "What happened to you?" Coreen asked.

  "I got tossed," Ethan said shortly. "Every rider comes off now and again. I was helping Randy with that new mustang in the string we bought from Luke Harper. I got pitched into the fence on my way down. It's nothing."

  "Except concussion," Coreen muttered.

  "Obviously that didn't bother anybody except Miriam," he said enigmatically, glaring at his mother and Arabella.

  Coreen glared back at him. "You're in a sweet mood, I see. Well, I'll help Betty Ann. Are you com­ing, Miriam?" she added pointedly.

  "Oh, no. I'll sit with Ethan. He shouldn't be alone, since he has a concussion," Miriam said, smiling as she laid a protective hand on Ethan's big, lean one.

  Coreen went out. Arabella didn't know what to do. Ethan didn't look as if he needed protecting from his ex-wife, and the way he was looking at Arabella made her want to hide.

  "Did you hear from my father?" she asked him hesitantly.

  "No, I didn't hear from your father," he said coldly. "Get me a beer, will you, Miriam?"

  Miriam looked as if leaving was the last thing she wanted to do, but Ethan glared at her and she left, re­luctantly, her eyes darting nervously from Ethan to Arabella.

  That nervous glance made better sense when she closed the door and Ethan let Arabella have it with both barrels.

  "Thank you for your loving concern," he said coldly. "How kind of you to give a damn if I killed myself on a horse!"

  She felt her knees going weak. "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "You might have told Mother, at least," he per­sisted. He tried to sit up, grimaced and grabbed his head, but he scowled furiously when she made an au­tomatic move toward him. "Just keep your distance, honey," he said harshly. "I don't want your belated attention. Miriam was here, thank God. She looked after me."

  "I don't understand what you're talking about," she said, exasperated.

  "You had a phone call before you left the ranch, didn't you?" he demanded.

  "Why, yes, of course. . ." she began.

  "Miriam told you I'd been hurt and I needed Mother to drive me in to the hospital, but you didn't say anything," he accused. "Not one word to her. Were you getting even, because I didn't pay you enough attention at breakfast? Or was it a way to get back at me for what happened last night? Did I go too far and scare you out of your virginal wits?"

  Her head was swimming. Surely he wasn't quite ra­tional after that knock on the head, with all these wild statements. "Ethan, Miriam didn't call me," she pro­tested. "I didn't know you were hurt!"

  "You just admitted that you got the phone call, so don't bother denying it," he added furiously when she started to do just that, to explain that it was her fa­ther who called, not Miriam. "I should never have divorced Miriam. When the chips were down, she cared and you didn't. I hope that damned dress you brought is returnable, honey, because I wouldn't marry you on a bet! Now get out of my room!"

  "Ethan!" she burst out, horrified that he could ac­tually believe her capable of such hard-boiled behav­ior.

  "I only took you in because I felt sorry for you," he said, giving her a cold appraisal with silver eyes. "I wanted you like hell, but marriage is too high a price to pay for a mercenary virgin with eyes like cash reg­isters. It's all too plain now that I was right, that all you were interested in was financial security for you, and probably for your damned father!" Before she could answer that unfounded charge, he sat straight up in bed, glaring. "I said get out! I don't want to see you again!"

  "If you believe I'm that mercenary, then I'll go," she replied, shaking with mingled hurt and fury. "I'm glad to know how you really feel about me, that it was only desire and pity all along."

  His eyes flashed silver fire. "The same goes for me. You're no different than Miriam was—out for all you can get. You even look like she used to!"

  So that was it. Too late, she realized how her sud­den change of appearance and her interest in an ex­pensive wedding gown must have seemed to a man who'd already been used for his wealth once.

  "You don't understand," she began.

  "Oh, yes, I do," he returned hotly. His head was throbbing. Somewhere inside, he knew he was being unreasonable, but he could hardly think at all for pain and outrage. "Will you get out!"

  She went. She could barely see through her tears, almost bumping into a satisfied-looking Miriam as she went down the hall toward her own room. Her tem­per flared at the smug expression on the older wom­an's face.

  "Congratulations," she flashed at Miriam. "You've got what you wanted. I hope your conscience lets you enjoy it—if you have one."

  Miriam shifted uncomfortably. "I told you he's mine," she said defensively.

  "He was never yours," Arabella said, brushing an­grily at her tears. "He was never mine, either, but at least I loved him! You only wanted what he had, I heard you say so before you married him. It isn't your heart that he broke, it was your ego. He was the one who got away, and you couldn't take it! So now you're going to get him back, but you'll be cheating him. Yo
u don't love him, even now. And if you're not preg­nant, I'm a brain surgeon!"

  Miriam went white. "What did you say?" she gasped.

  "You heard me," Arabella said. "What are you going to do, get Ethan to the altar and pretend it's his? That's just what he needs now, to have you come back and finish what you started. You almost destroyed him once. Are you going to finish the job?"

  "I need someone!" Miriam protested.

  "Try the father of the child you're carrying," Ara­bella replied.

  Miriam wrapped her arms around her chest. "My child is none of your business. And neither is Ethan. If he loved you, he'd never have believed you could ignore him when he was hurt."

  Arabella nodded quietly. "Yes, I know that," she said, pain deepening her tone. "And that's the only reason I'm leaving. If I thought he cared, even a lit­tle, I'd stay and fight you to the death. But if it's you he wants, then I can bow out gracefully." She laughed bitterly. "I should be used to it. I did it four years ago, and look how happy you made him."

  Miriam grimaced "It could be different this time."

  "It could. But it won't. You don't love him," Ara­bella said. "That's what makes it so terrible, even if he loves you." She turned away and went into her room sickened by the thought. It was like history repeating itself.

  The wedding gown, in its box, was lying on her bed. She tossed it into a chair and threw herself across the bed, crying her heart out. It didn't matter that Mir­iam was the snake who'd betrayed her, it was the fact that Ethan didn't believe she was innocent. That was what hurt the most. If he didn't trust her, he certainly didn't love her. She'd been living in a fool's paradise, thinking his ardor might lead to love. Now she knew that it wouldn't. Desire was never enough to compen­sate for a lack of real feeling.

  She pleaded a headache and spent the rest of the night in her room, even refusing supper. Having to watch Miriam gloat would be the last straw, and she had no stomach for any more arguments with Ethan. She knew from painful experience that once his mind was made up, nothing was going to change it. She'd have to leave in the morning. At least she did still have a little money and her credit cards. She could manage on that. She could go to a hotel.

  Her eyes were red with tears. Damn Miriam! The other woman had found the perfect way to foul up everything. Now she'd have Ethan again, just as she'd planned. Well, Arabella thought viciously, they de­served each other. So much for all the pretense. Ethan had admitted that it had only been desire that he felt, that he'd pitied her and that's why he'd invited her here. Probably the excuse of keeping Miriam at bay had been fictitious—like his so-called impotence. She'd never believe another word he said, she told herself firmly. If they were quits, it was just fine with her. If Miriam was what he wanted, he could have her. She put on her gown, turned out the light, and lay down. Amazingly, she slept.

  Coreen finally found five minutes alone with her son, Miriam having given in to drowsiness and gone to bed.

  "Can I bring you anything?" Coreen asked him. "We didn't have a proper supper. Arabella went to bed hours ago with a headache."

  "Too bad," Ethan said coldly.

  Coreen scowled at him. "What's eating you? Come on, out with it!"

  "Miriam phoned the house before you and Ara­bella left for Houston to tell you I needed a ride to the hospital," he said curtly. "Arabella didn't even bother to tell you. Apparently the shopping trip meant more than any little injury of mine."

  Coreen gaped at him. "What are you talking about? There was only one phone call and it was from Ara­bella's father!"

  "Is that what she told you?" he asked with a hard laugh. "Did you talk to him, or hear him? Did Betty Ann?"

  Coreen moved close to the bed, her eyes full of dis­approval and concern. "I had hoped that you cared about Arabella," she said. "I hoped that you'd be able to see through Miriam's glitter this time to the cold, selfish woman underneath. Perhaps that kind of woman really appeals to you because you're as incap­able of real love as she is."

  Ethan's eyebrows went straight up. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You heard me. I don't need proof that Arabella didn't lie. She wouldn't walk away and leave an in­jured animal, much less an injured person. I believe that because I know her, because I care about her." She stared down at him. "Love and trust are two sides of one coin, Ethan. If you can believe Arabella capa­ble of such a cold-blooded act, then I'd suggest that you forget marriage and put Miriam's ring back through your nose. God knows, right now I think the two of you deserve each other."

  She turned and left him there. He picked up a cup from the table and slammed it furiously at the closed door. He knew he was fuddled, but his mother had no right to say things like that to him. Why would Mir­iam lie about a phone call that he could certainly check? All he had to do was get the record of where the call originated from the phone company to prove a lie. Anyway, Miriam had been different lately, very caring and warm, and he'd actually enjoyed her com­pany. He knew all about the man she was in love with, and he'd done his best to encourage her to go back to the Caribbean and try again. So that meant she wasn't interested in him as a man anymore, and it gave her no reason to try and break up his apparent romance with Arabella.

  Or was it all a ruse on Miriam's part to get him back? Could Arabella be innocent of what he'd ac­cused her of? He didn't want to think about that, be­cause if she was, he'd just ruined everything. Again. He groaned. It was the way Arabella had dressed, the things she'd said about getting an expensive wedding gown, and then the way it had hurt when Miriam said Arabella was going to Houston anyway, despite his condition.

  He was concussed and his mind wasn't working properly. He'd been sure that Arabella loved him, but when Miriam said she wouldn't come to see about him, he thought he'd been mistaken. Then he'd worked himself into a lather thinking that she'd only wanted to use him, as Miriam once had. Miriam had been so different lately that he'd been sure she'd changed, that she wasn't the same self-seeking woman she had been. But was she different? Or was he just susceptible because his head was throbbing and Ara­bella had hurt him?

  He lay down and closed his eyes. He wouldn't—he couldn't—think about that right now. He'd think about it in the morning, instead, when his throbbing head was a little clearer. Then he'd face the future, if he still had one with Arabella.

  Chapter Nine

  Arabella woke to the sound of voices the next morn­ing. She sat up in bed, her pale blue gown twisted around her slender body, her long brown hair a tan­gle around her shoulders, just as Mary knocked briefly then opened the door, rushing inside.

  "Hello!" she said, laughing, as she hugged Ara­bella and placed a bag of souvenir items on the bed. Mary was tan and relaxed and looked lovely. "These are all for you," she said. "T-shirts, shell things, necklaces, skirts, and even a few postcards. Did you miss me?"

  "Oh, Mary, yes, I did," Arabella said with a long sigh, hugging her back. Mary was the best, and the only, real friend she'd ever had. "Things are getting so complicated."

  "I heard you and Ethan are going to be married," Mary continued, all eyes.

  Arabella's face fell. "Yes. Well, that was just what we told Miriam. The wedding is off."

  "But your gown!" Mary protested, nodding to­ward the box in the armchair. "Coreen told us all about it."

  "It's going back today," Arabella said firmly. "Ethan broke off the engagement last night. He wants Miriam back."

  Mary sat very still. "He what?"

  "Wants Miriam back," Arabella said quietly. "She's changed, or so he says. They've gotten real thick in the past couple of days." Which was odd, she told herself, because she herself had gotten real thick with Ethan in the past couple of days. She felt sick all over. "And I'm leaving," she added, giving in to a decision she'd made the night before. "I hate to ask when you're just off the plane, but could you drive me into Jacobsville later?"

  Mary almost refused, but the look in her friend's eyes killed all her hopeful words. Whatever had hap­pened, Arabella had b
een terribly hurt by it. "All right," she said with a forced smile. "I'll be glad to. Does Ethan know you're going?"

  "Not yet," Arabella said. "He doesn't need to. He fell yesterday and got concussed." She had to bite back all her concern for him. She couldn't afford to let it show. "He's all right. Miriam's taking care of him, and that's the way he wants it. He said so."

  Mary knew there had to be more to it than that, but she kept her silence. "I'll let you dress and pack. I gather that I'm not to tell anyone you're going?"

  "Please."

  "All right. Come downstairs when you're ready."

  "I'll do that. Could you.. .take that with you?" she asked, nodding toward the box.

  Mary picked it up, thinking privately that it was a pity Ethan had waited until she bought the dress to call off the wedding. He didn't seem to care very much for Arabella's feelings, either, because she was obviously crushed.

  "I'll see you directly," Arabella said as Mary went out and closed the door.

  She got dressed, minus the bra that she still couldn't fasten, in a suit with a thick jacket that she buttoned up. She packed her few things with her good hand and tied a scarf around her neck to hold the cast at her waist. It got heavy when she moved around very much. She picked up her suitcase, then, after a final glance in the mirror at her pale face without makeup, left the room where she'd been so happy and so sad.

  There was one last thing she wanted to do. She had to say goodbye to Ethan. She wouldn't admit, even to herself, how much she hoped he'd changed his mind.

  Actually, at that moment, Ethan was having a long talk with a quiet and dejected Miriam. He'd asked for the truth, and she'd reluctantly given it to him, her conscience pricked by the conversation that Ethan didn't know she'd had with Arabella the night before.

  "I shouldn't have done it," she told him, smiling mistily. "You've been so different, and I saw the way things could have been if you'd loved me when we first married. I knew I didn't stand a chance against Ara­bella, so I had other men to get even," she confessed for the first time. She met his eyes apologetically. "You should have married her. I'm sorry I made things difficult for you. And I'm very sorry about the lie I told yesterday."