by Thea Devine
But as she looked over to the horizon and finally saw the telltale cloud of dust that heralded the approach of the herd, she knew those days were gone forever.
Sweetland was her home from now on, and Ardelle the arbiter of her function there, until such time as she felt confident to relinquish her control. It was beginning to look like a losing battle for her on all sides, but that thought was lost in Bruno's excited shout over the bawling of the cows and confused calves. "Here they come, Miss Kalida! Ain't they pretty!"
"Look at the difference," Jake said loudly, close to her ear, as they walked the perimeter of the herd, which consisted perhaps of fifty head of heifers and about half as many calves. "The Linaria are very distinctive; look at the horns, the way they curve in, they're shorter and the legs are shorter, so they forage easier."
Kalida nodded to show she heard him. They were watching his crew settle down the herd, for this was to be their bedding ground for several days before they were moved into pasture on the ranch. Bruno was already in the thick of things himself, checking out the calves' hooves, mouths, and if the branding had taken clearly enough.
There wasn't much more for Jake to do here now, nor for Kalida to see, he told her, unless she was going to take active part in the work.
"Wouldn't I like to!" she said longingly, and he looked at her, startled. But her eyes were fixed on Bruno's work-worn old frame, and he didn't think she was even aware he had heard her.
"No reason not to get on to your old homestead then," he suggested. She turned to him so eagerly that he was transfixed by the blazing blue of her eyes and the keenness of her .expression.
"Now?"
"A stop at the bunkhouse to get washed first," he temporized, "but yes, now." Her fervor made him almost willing to scrap that plan. It was almost like an overt invitation, and the thought of his dusty, sweaty body on her soft flesh aroused him further. But he clamped down on it. If she were willing today and not upset by the desolation of her old home, he wanted to be clean and fresh smelling for her. He hoped to God she wouldn't be upset by what she saw.
He made sure she was close behind him as they crosscut back through the shortcut that Bruno -had taken and came out behind the barns again. He jumped off by the bunkhouse, adjured her to remain mounted while he changed, raced inside to get a towel and fresh shirt, washed himself sketchily from head to waist, and then donned the clean shirt.
Malca was prancing with impatience when he rejoined Kalida and mounted up again. This time, they directed the horses down the dirt and gravel drive in front of the house.
There wasn't a sign anyone was around as they came up to it, so that when Ardelle suddenly appeared by the old house, Kalida was so startled she almost caused Malca to rear back. She fully expected the older woman to prohibit their expedition, but Ardelle surprisingly said, "That might be a good idea."
"Why would you think so?" Kalida asked curiously.
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"Perhaps when you see the futility of resurrecting that place, you'll mend your behavior and begin to live up to your father's part of the bargain," Ardelle said coolly. She stared at Jake then, leaning heavily on her cane, and she looked back at Kalida with frost in her eyes. Then she turned away and limped back behind the old house and out of their sight.
"She's a one," Jake said, shaking his head. "I never will fathom her. All right, let's get going; we've got a long ride, and we'll do it at a fast pace."
Kalida pushed her hat tightly on her head and urged Malca into a gallop. Malca hardly needed prompting; he was more than ready for a fast run after being cooped up in the corral for so many days. Kalida could hardly control him; she held on tightly and let Malca have his head as they raced through the pasture, off of Sweetland, and onto free range.
Jake kept behind her, his gleaming hazel eyes feasting on her hips and shoulders pumping with every movement of the horse. She was a pretty rider, at one with Malca's movements, always gauging the horse's motion, shifting with it, guiding it, aware of its temperament with an almost sensual sensitivity.
Malca knew the way. It was almost uncanny how he knew exactly where to go and when to turn. As they approached the stone markers of the Ryland boundary, Malca led the way across the familiar track and paths and pastures where Kalida had roamed so freely as a young girl.
Finally Jake skewed in front of her and motioned her to stop. Just beyond the field where they had halted was the remains of the house, and he wanted to prepare her.
"How can you do that?" she demanded, angry and anxious all at once. Her eyes betrayed her, now dark navy with a burning light that was not shadowed by the brim of her hat. Her mouth was as inflexible as her words. She
would see it, without the preparation, even if the shock of it destroyed everything for her.
He let her go, and she pulled back on Malca's reins so the horse slowly picked his way through the field and finally came within sight of what remained of the house.
There was nothing. It was a huge square blank spot with footings marking where the frame had been. All the rubble was gone, all the charred timber had been removed. The tonly sign of the fire was the still-scorched grass around the perimeter near the footings and the missing pieces of fence on the barn side of what had been the house.
The barn still stood, gaping and empty, and the fencing was intact around the corrals and the herding pens. But nothing else remained of the house — not a shingle, not a clapboard, not a piece of glass from the precious windows, not a piece of the timber framing. It was as desolate as a ghost town, what remained of that one little inconsequential ranch that had been Kalida's world.
She dismounted with a heavy heart and walked into the blank space of the nonexistent house, wondering that something so substantial had been wiped so completely away. For it was not only the physical bulk of the house that was gone, it was also the substance of the lives that had been lived within.
She turned to Jake and shrugged. "Well, I guess that's that."
"I told you you wouldn't want to see your old home like it is now," he reminded her.
"Let's look at the barn."
They crunched across the drive and into the dark, open doorway space of the barn. It was cool in there, despite the sun beating down on it. Everything here was the same. There was still one carriage and one flatbed wagon in the stalls, and the scent of hay permeating the air. Intermittent light filtered in through the small windows
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set high on either side of the loft.
Kalida looked up at the loft. "I used to play up there years ago."
You could play up there now, Jake thought, not moving, not daring to make one suggestion of anything he was thinking. He could almost feel her shaking herself out of her disappointment that the devastation of her home had been so complete.
"And hide from Papa sometimes when he had a chore I didn't particularly want to do," she added, with just the faintest sparkle of laughter in her tone. Yes, the memories were good ones. She went to the loft ladder and shook it. Still as steady as ever. In an instant she had mounted it and was climbing, while Jake stood below admiring the view.
"Come on up," she called when she had reached top. "Ugh. The hay isn't fresh, but the view is terrific."
Oh it is, Jake thought, and mounted the ladder. In a moment he was beside her, and the two of them were scanning out the opened doors that framed the fields beyond the house almost like a painting.
"If you hadn't known the house was there," Kalida said, sitting down by the railing with her feet over the side, "you would love the view."
Jake joined her, dangling his long legs over the side and discarding his hat behind him. "So," he said, because in actuality, he did not know what to say. Her mood had changed abruptly; she seemed carefree now, having girded herself against further hurt. She had gotten what she had come for—the final period put on her youth. Now she would have to deal with the reality of her situation and perhaps the revela
tion of her true nature.
Perhaps she knew it already, Jake mused as they sat in silence, and she merely liked to play games. In any event, he knew he must not make the first move. She must be allowed to feel the thickness in the air between them and
the sensual implication of their sitting in the darkness in the barn. In an isolated place where no one could happen upon them. It surely could not have been chance that she had decided to climb, up here and invite him with her.
He couldn't read her face in the dusky light from the windows. It played beguilingly over her cheekbones, emphasizing the movement of her lips when she spoke. It shadowed her eyes so he couldn't see their expression, and it limned the* firm tilt of her chin as she looked at him curiously, as though she sensed he wanted something and was going to ask him what it was.
But she said nothing, and he sat very still, thinking of this shadowed darkness and how it would both hide and reveal her body if she chose now to stand up and slide out of her clothing.
"It is very restful to be here with you," she said finally, meaning it as a compliment. She was grateful he hadn't tried to talk or ease away her pain. She had needed to do that by herself; no one could come to grips with this kind of loss any other way. She reached out and touched the thick brawny arm that he had wrapped around his right knee.
He almost jumped at the feeling of her cool fingers on the hairy skin of his forearm, where he had rolled up his shirtsleeve. Now, he thought, if she would just slide her hand upwards and squeeze just a little, it would be like a signal for what would come. He knew the kind of smile she would send him — hot and knowledgeable, because she would be able to see clearly in his expression what he expected since she had to be very familiar with it. She knew just how to touch a man to arouse his interest and inflame his senses.
"Thank you, Jake." Her voice was husky, and the smile flashed at him, along with a dazzling slanting glance of invitation.
He didn't move a muscle. Come on and thank me, he
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thought. Come on, and don't string me out any longer than you have to. God, but she was an expert. He could tell she knew what the darkness and her closeness were doing to him. And she was probably enjoying every minute of it. His anticipation of it filled him to bursting, and he thought it would be very easy just to grab her and strip away her clothes. But that wasn't the way he wanted it. He wanted her enticing him with the kind of uninhibited undressing she had performed in the parlor. The kind of impudent, audacious flaunting of her delectable nakedness that he had viewed through the window. The same abandon with which she had allowed Deuce to handle her in front of the bunkhouse. All that he wanted for himself, without coercion or force.
If she meant to taunt him, he would bear it; it would be part of the game, and he would have her eventually just as he had dreamed. It could be now. He watched avidly as the tip of her tongue played across her lips, wetting them deliberately to provoke him into doing something so she could deny him—this time. No, he wouldn't move. She was a tease, and she needed to play her games, and he would enjoy them, until she became aroused by his studied disinterest and would try anything to engage his attention. And he knew just how she would do it.
"Jake—" Her voice was throbbing with excitement; he could feel it. She could hardly contain herself. "I — "
And then the roar that shook the rafters of the barn: "DANTON!" And the huge shadow in the doorway, blocking the view, pistol drawn now, immense in shadow, threatening, blood-lusting. Deuce!
"You son of a bitch, wherever the hell you have Kalida, you move away from her because I am going to kill you and string up your ass. Danton!"
"Hell, Deuce—" Jake began. The words didn't scare him, but the emotion behind them did.
A shot rang out, just close enough to get him moving.
"Shit, Deuce-"
"Get your ass down here." Another shot splintered above them. Jake moved, almost diving down the ladder. Deuce meant what he said; plainly he thought he had rights. Jake didn't know what rights he had, or whether he wanted to stay around long enough to find out. Deuce clearly didn't.know about Miss Kalida's tendencies, and he, Jake, wasn't about to explain. But he was equally sure that the next time he saw Kalida she would be so sorry for what happened that she would want to apologize—somehow.
"All right," he muttered as he reached bottom. "My ass is here. And I'll tell you, just once, that nothing is going on here except Miss Kalida's sitting in the barn loft thinking about old times, and I didn't think she should come around here alone, because you never know what's skulking around an abandoned property."
"Hell and damn you, this property isn't abandoned, you shit, and you get the hell off of it, and be aware the only thing that's saving your ass and your gut is the fact you're a decent foreman. Get out of here."
Jake shot him a skeptical look and bowed sardonically. Deuce lifted his gun again, and Jake scurried out.
Kalida had not moved. She hated Deuce at that moment more than she ever had in her whole life. And she hated Jake for abandoning her. Both of them stared out the door after Jake, even though neither could see him. After a moment or two they heard the sound of hoof-beats, close and then disappearing into the distance.
And then there was silence, an impenetrable, dense, portentous silence that stretched until the atmosphere was as taut as Kalida's nerves. She stayed where she was, afraid to move, afraid of his explosive temper, which had not diffused with Jake's departure. Wary because he hadn't said a word, and he still held the pistol in his
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hand.
Suddenly there was a clicking sound and the creak of leather as he slicked the gun into its holster. "You can come down now, Kalida. I'm not going to kill you."
"You don't think that reassures me, do you?" she called down. "Come and get me." Damn, now, why did I do that? she thought as he started toward the ladder. Only fools issued challenges to the like of Deuce Cavender. Or had she some other reason, something deep inside her that she did not want to take out and examine? She admired the bend of his supple body as he agilely climbed the ladder. He had thrown aside his hat, and his straight black hair fell right into his eyes as he ascended swiftly and competently to the top of the ladder.
And when he stepped onto the loft floor, Kalida knew she was in trouble. Even though the light was too dim for her to really see his expression, she felt his anger. She couldn't even gauge the depth of it; it came from something she had no knowledge of. "So this is where the she-tom comes to rut," he said, almost casually as he looked around at the dark hay-scented loft.
"Always," she jeered rashly.
"You are as indiscriminate as a cat, you vixen," he growled, taking a step toward her, his rage becoming palpable. "What did that bastard do to you?"
"Nothing more than any man who had a spare hour to kill —with a vixen," she retorted, her resentment rising to match his fury.
"Any man," he echoed, and the flat, dry tone of his voice told her to move—and in that moment. She darted to her left and he dove for her, catching her legs and tumbling her on her back, into a pile of hay deep in the shadows of the loft.
"Perfect," she muttered hoarsely, cursing his temper and her desire to goad him beyond reason. Why, and why had she said it? She felt his body shift upwards and she
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pushed against him.
"Any man," he reminded her harshly, positioning his weight over her and onto her body with no consideration. "Any . . . man." His voice grated against her ear. "How many men, Kalida-cat? How many boys in the hayloft, you bitch? What did you let them do?" His breath was hot against her ear, as hot as his words. "Where did he touch you?" His words sizzled; he meant to kill her with his heat. She' writhed against him in anguish. His own words inflamed him almost beyond reason. "Where did he put his hands, Kalida?"
"He . . . didn't — " She pushed against the rock wall of his chest with all her strength.
"You
went off alone with this man, Kalida. Any man. And I find you alone with him in a dark barn and you tell me he didn't lay a hand on you? Hell, you must think I'm gullible; you forget I know Jake Danton doesn't do anything for a woman unless he knows he-can get something for it."
She screamed with rage then and pushed against him again, his hard hissing words echoing in her brain. He was an animal, damn him, a goddamned stinking, stupid male animal, and all he knew was that, and damn him, he could go to hell thinking she would even allow Jake Danton to lay a finger on her. The thought of Jake and her together was burning him up, she saw. Well, she wanted him to suffer, and the idea of Jake touching her was making him suffer. She stopped struggling abruptly as she perceived the power she had because of this.
"And if he did?" she whispered impulsively.
"I'll kill him. I'll kill you," he said flatly, as if the darkness were witness to the promise. "Did he?"
She didn't answer; answering would alleviate his pain, and she didn't nearly want to do that. She felt a kind of contempt for him that it mattered so much. She forgot, in this heady moment, her feelings about Ellie.
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"Did he?" He had allowed enough time for her to answer before he rapped out the question again. He felt frustration building on anger and desire at the way she was taunting him.
"What do you think?" she murmured.
"I think you're an alleycat with all the makings of a first-class tease of a whore. Did he?" His tone dared her to dissemble again.
"Deuce-"
"Kalida—" The frustration in him snapped suddenly. He moved off her, raised himself to his knees, and pulled her with him. Slowly, he drew her upright and close, and his slow, tense, languid movements scared her more than his words.
"What are you going to do?" she demanded in a whisper.
