by Janet Dailey
An amused sound came from Mattie, drawing Layne’s glance to her again. “I may be old, but I’m not blind,” she said.
“What?” Layne’s voice was small and slightly wary.
“I’ve noticed the way Creed has been looking at you. Or …” Mattie paused, a faint smile accenting the age lines around her mouth “… maybe I should say the way he has tried so hard not to watch you. Any fool would know what’s on his mind. It’s probably on the mind of most men who look at you. Lust is a somewhat common denominator in the male species.” Again that knowing smile was in place, but her gaze was keen in its inspection of Layne. “I see you’re finally aware of the way he feels. In a way, I guess I’ve been trying to warn you.”
“It wasn’t really necessary.” A smile fairly beamed from her face, because a warning was only needed if she had wanted to avoid Creed.
“You’re both grown adults, so I’m sure you’ll sort this out on your own.” Mattie shrugged to indicate that it was really none of her business. Yet she added, “But things run deep with him. I mean, he isn’t like Hoyt, all happy-go-lucky and carefree. Don’t hurt him.”
“I’d never hurt him, Mattie.” Not deliberately, Layne silently qualified. But the appeal was a sobering reminder that she had to allay his suspicions surrounding her purpose for working on the ranch and explain the truth to him so he’d stop distrusting her. She fingered the collar of her robe. “I left the bathroom in a mess. I’d better go clean it up and get dressed.” Layne started for the doorway. “I’ll be down shortly to give you a hand with supper.”
To Layne’s surprise, she discovered the bathroom had been cleaned. Even her pile of wet clothes had been individually hung over a wall rack where they could drip into the tub, and her hair dryer had been returned to her room. It was obvious Creed had seen to it while she was sleeping. Undoubtedly, it was a reflexive action from his bachelor life that had trained him to a housekeeping role. Layne smiled to herself while she dressed, thinking he was a rare breed of man indeed.
There were no awkward silences at the supper table that evening, although Layne had thought there might be, considering the unfinished conversation with Creed. But she had failed to take into account that Hoyt and Stoney would expect a minute-by-minute description of her accident, both her version and Creed’s, while they inserted comments along the way. Naturally they had their side of it to tell—how they found her horse running loose and intended to start a search when they came to the house and learned from Creed what had happened and that she was safe.
The subject of her near disaster dominated the entire meal. Layne suspected that Mattie was probably the only one who noticed the strong undercurrents running between herself and Creed. Layne was physically aware of him every minute, her eyes taking note of little details such as the way the lift of his hand set off a ripple of muscles beneath his shirt, the way his fingers held a knife, so she could make them part of the other intimacies she knew about him.
The few times their glances met, she saw the glitter in his desert-brown eyes, which reminded her that their conversation was yet to come. But Layne also noticed that desire that lurked in the brown depths and occasionally dragged his gaze downward to slide over her breasts as if recalling when their only covering had been his hands instead of the ruffled blouse she was wearing now.
Per routine, the men lingered over their coffee while Layne and Mattie cleared the table. With dishwater running in the sink, Layne went back to wipe the crumbs from the vinyl tablecloth. Creed pushed his chair away from the table when she walked over, and crossed to the back door to retrieve his coat and hat.
“I’ll see you later.” It sounded like a generalized farewell, except that his gaze was centered on her when Creed said it. But only Layne knew that the message was directed at her. No one else paid any attention.
By the time the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, it was a full twenty minutes before Layne paused in front of the door to Creed’s cabin-sized house. With a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, she knocked on the inner door. His voice, muffled by the thick door, invited her inside.
His back was to the door when she entered. He was bending at the middle to lean down and crush out a cigarette in the ashtray on the low coffee table. Layne shrugged out of her coat and scarf and draped them on the hall-tree by the door.
“It’s cold outside.” She crossed the room as he turned and skimmed her with a glance.
“Have a seat.” There was a grimness about his mouth as he took a position on one end of the long couch. His coolness gave her a few misgivings, but she avoided the large recliner as being too remote and sat on the cushion near the middle of the sofa, angling herself toward him. “Let’s have it,” Creed challenged without any further preliminaries. “Why are you here?”
Layne breathed out a smiling sigh. “I can explain,” she assured him. “So I wish you’d quit acting like I was on trial for something.”
But Creed was in no mood to be mollified by her attempt at congeniality. “Then explain,” he insisted with teeth-clenched terseness. “And I don’t want to hear any more of your damned lies.”
“I did write for the newspaper. That much of it was true. You checked it out yourself with my editor,” Layne reminded him.
His hands were tightly clasped in front of him while he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “When I went into your room to fetch your robe and hair dryer this afternoon, something bothered me.” Creed spoke in a voice that was deadly quiet and flat. “I couldn’t figure out what it was. Later, while you were sleeping, I went back to look again.”
“You went through my things?” This invasion of her privacy left her stunned and slightly indignant.
“I admit I had no right to go through them.” Creed made the concession with a smooth nod in her direction, but there wasn’t even a flicker of remorse. “I was looking for something but, strangely, I didn’t find it.” Layne frowned when he paused, not following him. “There weren’t any notes, no tapes—no information recorded anywhere for the supposed articles you were going to write. Unless, of course, you’re going to try to convince me you have a photographic memory.”
“I’m not.” She shook her head, eyeing him steadily. “At least now I understand why you kept on and on with all those story ideas of yours when we were in the kitchen this afternoon.”
“I kept waiting for you to tell me you’d changed your mind—or admit you’d never intended to write anything,” he said grimly. “But you stuck with that excuse to the bitter end. Now I want to know whether you ever intended to write anything.”
“No. It was just a way of persuading Mattie to hire me.” Now Layne could see that he had given her several openings to tell him the truth.
“Why was that so important? And don’t feed me that old line about wanting to work on a ranch. From you, I wouldn’t buy it.”
“The reason is much more complicated than that. You see, I’m Mattie’s daughter,” she said quietly.
“You’re what?” His voice rumbled with disbelief.
“I know how incredible it sounds, but it is the truth,” Layne insisted firmly and met his hard and doubting look without faltering. “You already know that I was adopted when I was a baby. Off and on for the past eight years, I’ve been trying to locate the woman who gave birth to me. So that day I ran into you at the newspaper office, I really was tracking down my family history. Until that day the only name I had to go on was Martha Turner. Then I found the record of her marriage to John Gray, and the obituary notice told me where she lived. That’s why I came here—to see her and find a way to get to know her.”
All the time she had been talking, Creed had watched her with narrow-eyed skepticism. When she finished, his mouth was drawn into a thin line.
“When you come up with a story, it’s a dandy,” he said.
“I’d hardly make something like this up,” she countered.
“I’ve known Mattie since she came to work for John. She’s never
had any children.”
“I was born before she came here,” Layne explained. “I don’t know the whole story—only bits and pieces that I’ve managed to fit together from things she’s told me. It’s hardly surprising that she never mentioned that she had a baby and gave it away.”
“You do realize I can easily find out if you’re telling the truth,” Creed warned. “All I have to do is ask Mattie.”
“No!” The denial rushed out on a quick breath as she leaned earnestly toward him. “You can’t do that. I haven’t told her who I am.”
His brows drew thickly together in a piercing frown. “Why? You supposedly go through all this to find her, then don’t tell her who you are?”
Layne was caught up in a troubled agitation that pushed her to her feet. “I wanted to get to know her, but I couldn’t know whether she would feel the same. When I showed up here that day, she thought I was applying for a job, so I let her go on thinking it. I was afraid if she knew who I was, I wouldn’t be able to stay. It has to be awkward to have someone turn up out of the blue and claim to be your daughter. How do you explain that to your friends or family?”
“So she doesn’t know,” Creed concluded as he watched Layne moving restlessly.
“What was the point in telling her?” Layne argued. “I didn’t want to hurt her or bring up any unpleasant memories of the past. It wasn’t even important to learn her reasons for giving me up for adoption. I only wanted to get to know her—the way she is. I didn’t come here to make her feel guilty or defensive about giving me up. And she would have if I had told her the truth.”
“That telephone conversation I overheard—it was Mattie you were talking about.”
“Yes.” It seemed he recalled every detail, and nothing escaped his notice. She was breathing deeply and unevenly, upset by this postmortem of her decision. She wanted Creed to see her side of it, but he seemed so distant. “My parents—my adopted parents, that is—knew I’d come here looking for Mattie. When I found her and explained that I was going to stay for a while, they naturally asked what her reaction was. I had to tell them she didn’t know who I was.”
A silence ran between them for the span of several long seconds. Layne ceased her restless pacing to study him. Creed released a heavy sigh and pushed to his feet.
“You do believe me, then,” Layne said when no more questions were forthcoming.
He raked combing fingers through the thatch of unruly dark hair and slanted a sideways look at her. “As you said, nobody would make up a story as farfetched as this.”
The tension that had been building in her system was finally relieved and she could breathe easier. “You don’t know how much better I feel telling you all this.” She laughed faintly, smiling at him. “I’ve had to keep it to myself for so long that I hadn’t realized what a strain it was. I guess it’s always easier when you can share your problems with someone.”
“You have to tell Mattie who you are,” Creed stated.
“No!” Layne swiftly rejected that thought, all her nerves tightening up again. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“She has a right to know,” he insisted tautly.
“I can’t tell her now.” A rawness caught her by the throat at the relentless determination in his uncompromising expression.
“If you don’t tell her, Layne, I will,” Creed warned.
She swallowed hard, doubting that he made idle threats. “You can’t,” she protested, moving a step closer to him.
“What is it? Some deep, dark secret I’m supposed to keep for you?” he challenged roughly.
“Yes,” Layne retorted with an earnest sort of nod.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” he demanded impatiently. “Mattie is my partner. You can’t expect me to hide this from her.”
“But how can I tell her the truth after all this time has gone by?” Layne argued just as forcefully. “What if she doesn’t want me here after the way I’ve deceived her? What if she asks me to leave? You know her better than I do, Creed. How do you think she’ll react when she finds out who I am?” She read the hesitancy in his expression and knew she had swayed him.
His mouth tightened in grim admission. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I, Creed.” Her rawly desperate glance clung to his gaze as her hands came up, unconsciously clutching at his shirt front in a silent appeal for his help. “And I don’t want to leave yet.”
The muscles of his chest were taut beneath her hands as Creed looked down at her, still frowning and still searching her face. Slowly his arms went around her, and his hand pressed her head to his chest in a gesture of comfort. He absently rubbed his chin over the top of her head while Layne closed her eyes and waited for him to decide whether to keep her secret or not.
His fingers twisted into her chestnut hair to pull gently and force her head back. “It’s no use.” A dark light smoldered in his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave. And you counted on that, damn you.”
His mouth came plummeting down to cover her lips in a roughly possessive kiss. It was like an explosive shock that splintered through her system and made Layne gasp at the intensely raw longing it evoked. His arm was an ever-tightening band of steel around her waist, crushing her to his length while his callused fingers snarled the silken thickness of her chestnut hair with their restless demands for greater closeness.
Straining into his kiss, Layne opened her lips so he could invade the fragrant moistness of her mouth. She felt the blood pounding in her veins and wound her arms around his neck to hang on to him in case her heart raced away with her. Creed was consuming her and it was like dying and going to heaven.
She sensed the battle within him, the attempt to control the base instinct that drove him. Shuddering expressively, Creed wrenched away from her lips and buried his face in the side of her hair, his chest heaving in labored breaths. His arms shifted to lock around her, as if holding on to his sanity. Layne felt equally shaken and unnerved, surprised by the depths of her passion, which hadn’t quelled under the ferocity of his.
“Why do you do this to me?” he murmured roughly, the husky disturbance in his low voice.
Her laugh was a breathless sound as her fingers sought the hard edges of his jaw and gaunt cheek. “It’s not all one-sided, Creed. Look what you do to me.”
He lifted his head to look at her passion-drugged features and the excited glitter in her half-closed eyes. “And you like it, too, don’t you?” he growled in satisfaction.
His head was already coming down to take up the invitation of moistly parted lips when Layne gave him her response. “I love it.”
Her fingers prized at the buttons of his shirt, not content until they could slide inside and luxuriate in the smoothness of bare skin stretched taut over lean muscles. He groaned deep down in his throat at her touch. When he scooped her into his arms, shivers of pleasure spiraled through her body.
With the toe of his boot, Creed kicked open the door to the darkened bedroom and carried her inside. Slowly he let her legs slide down until her feet touched the floor, never once letting her out of the circle of his arms.
His large hands at last cupped her face and stroked her hair. “I can promise you it will be softer than the floor,” he murmured against her lips.
There were no lights in the room except the rectangular patch that fell through the open door. They undressed in broken stages, touching and kissing, unable to stay apart long enough to make it an uninterrupted process. Atop the mattress in the dark, they made tactile discoveries of each other all over again and found the same wildly sweet satisfaction in the fusion.
Layne turned her head on the pillow to gaze at the dark form lying beside her. His body was still and breathing evenly. Although it was too dark in the room to tell, she thought Creed was sleeping. She suppressed a sigh of reluctance and bent her head the few inches to kiss the hard point of his shoulder. Moving carefully, she eased herself away to swing her legs out of the bed.
“Where are you going?�
� Creed asked in the velvety thick voice of tired contentment.
“It’s late,” she said and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s time I was getting dressed and going to my own bed.”
“No.” A hand clamped itself around her wrist and pulled her backward away from the edge as Creed supported himself on an elbow. Layne found herself half leaning on him, crosswise. “I want you to stay here tonight.”
“I can’t. Mattie will be wondering what’s happened to me if I don’t get back to the house pretty soon,” she reasoned.
“Mattie knows exactly where you are.” His hand smoothed the hair away from her neck and stroked the pulse he found beating there. “And don’t kid yourself—she knows exactly what’s happening too. She’s been through it all before.”
“I know. That’s how I came to be,” Layne said and kissed him quickly, slipping out of his hold while he still believed there was going to be more. “But I think I should go back just the same.”
As her feet touched the floor, she felt the mattress sink, taking his full weight once more. She dressed in the dark while Creed lit a cigarette and smoked it.
Before leaving, she paused in the doorway where the light spilled into the room. “Good night.” All she could see was the faint red glow of his cigarette.
His reply was slow in coming. “Good night, Layne.”
It was snowing big, fat flakes when she left his house. Maybe it was shameless the way she’d given herself to him, but it seemed impossible that anything that felt so right between two people could be wrong.
Chapter 10
As the empty hayrack rattled past the opened gate, Layne jumped off to close it. The thick mud splayed under her boots when she landed, then made squishy, sucking noises with each step she took to the gate. On this mild morning she hadn’t bothered to button her parka. The extra warmth wasn’t needed, so she let it hang open.
Three days before, a late winter storm had held the Sand Hills snowbound for a day. Hot on its heels came the warm spring thaw to chase away the cold and leave only traces of its visit behind in the melting snowdrifts along the fenceline and the thin patches of snow cover along the north sides of buildings.
