He Was A Cowboy In The City.
Everything about the man looked hopelessly out of place amid the chic uproar of the lively bar scene. It wasn't just the stitched leather boots, the close-fitting jeans or the yoked, western-style shirt that set him apart from the designer suits that filled the bar. Even if Garth Saxon had been wearing a European-cut sport coat, Italian shoes and a Swiss watch, he would have stood out in the San Francisco crowd.
Saxon was wide open spaces, harness leather and the kind of strength that seemed to come from the land itself. Surrounded by a flock of bright, chattering apartment dwellers busily intent on impressing one another with their stylish success, he was, indeed, unique.
From her vantage point across the bar,
Devon Ellwood took one look at him and knew her
year of freedom was about to come to an end.
He was here tonight to claim his bride.
Dear Reader:
Welcome! You hold in your hand a Silhouette Desire—your ticket to a whole new world of reading pleasure.
A Silhouette Desire is a sensuous, contemporary romance about passions, problems and the ultimate power of love. It is about today's woman—intelligent, successful, giving—but it is also the story of a romance between two people who are strong enough to follow their own individual paths, yet strong enough to compromise as well.
These books are written by, for and about "every woman that you are"—wife, mother, sister, lover, daughter, careerwoman. A Silhouette Desire heroine must face the same challenges, achieve the same successes, in her story as you do in your own life.
The Silhouette reader is not afraid to enjoy herself. She knows when to take things seriously, and when to indulge herself in a fantasy world. With six books a month, Silhouette Desire strives to meet her many moods, but each book is always a compelling love story.
I'm sure you'll enjoy Saxon's Lady by bestselling author Stephanie James. It is a wonderful story about a rugged rancher who discovers that the woman of his dreams has a will—and a way—of her own.
I also hope that once you say goodbye to Saxon and his lady, you'll say hello to another Silhouette book, and find yourself going wild... with Desire!
Best,
Isabel Swift
Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator
SILHOUETTE BOOKS 300 East 42nd St.,
New York, N.Y. 10017
Copyright © 1987 by Stephanie James
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd St., New York, N.Y. 10017
ISBN: 0-373-48213-2
First Silhouette Books Desire Sampler edition printing August 1987
All the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or-dead, is purely coincidental.
SILHOUETTE, SILHOUETTE DESIRE and colophon are registered trademarks of the publisher.
America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance
CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the U.S.A.
One
Everything about the man looked hopelessly out of place amid the chic uproar of the lively after-work bar scene. It wasn't just the stitched leather boots, the close-fitting denim pants or the yoked, Western-Style shirt that set him apart from the designer suits that filled the bar. Even if Garth Saxon had been wearing a European-cut sport coat, Italian shoes and a Swiss luxury watch he would have stood out in the San Francisco crowd. He was a cowboy in the city.
Saxon was wide-open spaces, harness leather and the kind of strength that seemed to come from the land itself. Surrounded by a flock of bright, chattering apartment dwellers busily intent on impressing one another with their stylish success, he was, indeed, unique.
From her vantage point across the bar Devon Ellwood took one look at him and knew her year of freedom was about to come to an end.
"Devon?" Christy Atkins leaned forward to make herself heard above the din. "Is something wrong?"
Devon jerked her gaze back to her attractive blond friend, aware that Saxon hadn't yet spotted his quarry. "What? Oh, no, Christy. I just saw someone I know. I suppose I'd better go invite him to join us. Do you mind?"
"Not if he's less than fifty."
"He's thirty-six."
"Well within the ballpark." Christy grinned good-naturedly and turned around to spot the newcomer. Her lavishly made-up eyes widened when she caught sight of the man filling the doorway. "Oh, my goodness. Not our usual style, is he? Are your tastes becoming kinky in your old age, Devon?"
Devon winced and got to her feet. "That's not a nice thing to say to someone who's just turned twenty-seven. You know what a sensitive soul I am. Excuse me a minute. I'll be right back."
"Make sure he scrapes his boots at the door."
Devon was surprised to find her response to Christy's small joke was unexpectedly defensive. "Don't worry," she told her friend coolly, "any dirt on Garth Saxon will be honest, clean dirt, unlike a lot of the stuff that sticks to some of these people." She tilted her chin slightly to indicate the crowd around them.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Christy apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to offend."
Devon summoned a wry, reassuring smile. "I know. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Hold on to our table, I'll just be a moment." She dived into the crowd, weaving an erratic path toward the door. Garth hadn't moved. He was still surveying the jungle of up-and-coming executives and office workers who had gathered in the stylish pub to celebrate the end of another workday.
As she made her way toward him, Devon chided herself for the abruptness of her response to her friend. There'd been no need to defend Garth Saxon. The man could most certainly take care of himself and anyone else around him. Furthermore, he tended to do exactly that—even though those around him hadn't always requested help and even though they didn't always appreciate Saxon's idea of what was best for them. Garth exercised the authority that came naturally to him with a calm certainty that inevitably made others give way. Devon knew from experience it could be maddening.
She acknowledged that it was tension as much as anything that had made her snap at Christy. She'd been telling herself all week that Garth wouldn't really show up today. But a part of her had known all along she was lying to herself. Maybe that was why she'd come to the singles bar with Christy after work instead of going straight home to her apartment. She'd been subcon-sciously trying to hide.
She should have known she couldn't hide from Garth.
But the logical, rational part of her had been so sure the year of freedom would have done its job, so certain that the rash promise she'd made exactly 364 days ago would have been forgotten.
She knew now she shouldn't have tried to delude herself. There was an inexorable, granite-hard quality about Garth Saxon that very little in life could affect. Nothing less than a volcanic explosion could make him deviate from his chosen path—and even then, he'd probably just make a slight detour to get to his goal.
In this case the goal was Devon Ellwood. What a fool I was Devon thought in sudden realization. She'd almost convinced herself that after a year Saxon would reconsider. I should have known better. But a year ago twelve months of freedom had stretched out before her looking like a lifetime. Anything could happen in a year. Minds could be changed and promises induced by passion could be forgotten. A man like Garth could be made to realize that Devon Ellwood wasn't really the right woman for him.
But here he was—every lean, tough, smoothly muscled inch of him. At six feet there were a lot of inches to Garth Saxon, Devon reflected. There was also a lot of strength and masculine heat and the kind of gentleness that could steal away a woman's breath.
Devon recalled rough-tip
ped fingers moving with exquisite care along the inside of her thigh; the unbearably exciting feel of Garth's teeth on her shoulder; the heavy, demanding weight of him as he covered her body with his own and the soft, deep, reassuring voice as he slowly and deliberately took possession of her.
I'll give you your year, sweetheart. But when it's over, I'm going to bring you home.
Devon felt the warmth rising in her and hurriedly caught her vagrant thoughts. Instinctively she shied away from the disturbing memories that threatened to crowd into her head. For a year she'd been keeping those memories carefully contained behind a locked door in her mind. But Garth's appearance in the bar this evening had set them free.
Saxon was studying the other side of the room now. Devon used the time to examine his blunt, raw-edged profile. There was no question of masculine beauty here, except, perhaps, for the eyes. His face had probably been carved by the same unforgiving hand that had been used to whittle mountains in its spare time. There was an unyielding strength in the line of his jaw and his bold cheekbones. His thick, dark brown hair was cut in a short, thoroughly practical style. The only softness in his face was the dark fringe of lashes that shadowed his clear, gray eyes. Heat burned again in Devon's cheeks as she briefly remembered the sizzling intensity that could light Garth Saxon's eyes.
At that instant Garth turned and caught sight of her moving toward him. When she saw the depths of the calm determination in his gaze Devon finally realized just how much of a fool she'd been to think that a year would make any difference at all to Garth Saxon. He hadn't forgotten the promise he'd coaxed from her in that one night of seemingly endless passion.
"I'll give you the time you think you want. A year of freedom," he'd bargained, "and when it's over we'll be married."
And Devon, burning brilliantly in the flames of a need she'd never before experienced, had agreed. Regret hadn't set in until the next day. By then it was too late. Garth Saxon's word was bankable. He expected others to keep their promises, too.
He was here tonight to claim his bride.
Devon controlled her instinct to flee, knowing that such a reaction would be totally useless. Saxon would simply come after her. He would use the same gentle, calm, inexorable determination to chase after a recalcitrant woman as he used to train his magnificent Arabian horses. The end result would be the same. Ultimately, the woman would surrender to the inevitable, just as the horse always did.
Her only hope, Devon told herself wildly, lay in being cool and rational and unemotional. She must make Garth understand what she'd been certain of a year ago. There might be passion between them but they weren't right for each other—she wasn't the kind of wife he needed and he wasn't the kind of man she might someday want to marry. If she ever married at all.
Devon emerged from the protective cover of the crowd and summoned a bright, charming smile as she came to a halt in front of Garth.
"You forgot your hat," she said lightly, thinking of the rather battered Stetson he was seldom without. As an opening remark, it probably lacked wit, but Devon couldn't think of anything else to say. The tension in her was making it difficult to think clearly.
"It's out in the truck." Garth was the kind of man who took most things, including questions, literally. "I got the feeling it wouldn't look quite right in here."
He was devouring the sight of her, taking in first the sassy, blow-dried style of her shoulder-length hair, tawny-brown hair. When she had left Hawk Springs a year ago, her long hair had been parted in the middle and worn in a neat coil at the back of her neck.
Her hairstyle wasn't the only thing that had changed about her during the past year, Devon knew. The brilliance of her coral-red lipstick and the artfully applied mascara and blusher that highlighted the antique-gold of her eyes were also new additions. She was five feet, five inches tall, but the heels of her stylish leather pumps gave her another couple of inches. She could have used a few more in dealing with Garth, she decided.
In Hawk Springs Devon had worn either jeans or a practical skirt and blouse most of the time. She wasn't wearing jeans tonight. She had come directly from the office after work and still wore the sleek, narrow black skirt, long-lined black and white jacket and topaz-yellow silk blouse she'd worn all day. She had bought the outrageously expensive suit just last week, pleased with the way it glided over her slender figure. The padded shoulders gave her a little extra width on top that she thought she needed to disguise the decidedly dainty contour of her breasts. Somehow the long, floating jacket seemed to emphasize her small waist and neatly rounded hips.
If Garth ever learned the price of the outfit he would be stunned. Garth Saxon was a financially successful man but he had a rancher's staid, old-fashioned ideas about money. Money was to be invested in land and horses and equipment, not frivolous designer clothing.
"I'm having a drink with a friend," Devon said finally in an attempt to interrupt Garth's endless perusal of her new image. "Why don't you join us?"
"A friend?"
She saw the flicker of disapproval in his gaze and unthinkingly rushed to explain. "A female friend. A coworker. Come on, Garth, you look like you could use a drink." Impulsively Devon reached out to catch hold of his hand and lead him back through the crowd. Her spirits lifted as the initial shock began to wear off.
This was her world, her environment. Here, she was in control and at home. Garth had too much quiet self-confidence to ever feel truly awkward in a social situation, but there was no doubt that he must be feeling at least slightly out of step with those around him. Devon decided to capitalize on that small fact. As she started to guide him through the crush, however, she felt a slight resistance on the other end of the hand she was holding. A slight resistance from Garth meant everything slowed to a full stop. Devon glanced back at him inquiringly.
"I think we ought to leave, Devon. We have a lot to talk about and I'd rather have a drink at your place where I can relax. I've had a long drive and I'm not feeling too social."
"My drink just arrived, Garth. I haven't had more than a sip. You wouldn't want me to waste my money, would you? Besides, I can't just walk out on Christy. It wouldn't be polite. I have to at least say goodbye." She tugged again and this time he reluctantly followed. His big hand enveloped hers and she could feel the calluses on his palm. Garth had always worked hard for the good living he made.
"One drink, Devon. That's all we have time for this evening."
She stifled a sigh and tried for a teasing smile, instead. "Same old Garth. Always giving orders."
"I wasn't giving orders," he protested as the crowd parted easily to let him through, "I was just pointing out that we don't have a lot of time. I want to get back to the ranch tomorrow. Are you all packed?"
"Uh, not exactly, Garth..."
His reaction was immediate and forceful. "What the hell do you mean, not exactly? You've had all the time in the world to get ready. I sent you a note last week reminding you I'd be here today."
Devon remembered the note. Her breath had caught in her throat when she'd opened her mailbox to find a plain white envelope addressed in Garth's bold scrawl. The message inside had been brief and to the point. He had told her he would be arriving Monday evening. Implicit in the short message was the understanding that she would be ready to leave San Francisco.
Even with the note in her hand, Devon hadn't quite believed he would just show up as if everything between them really was well and firmly settled. Surely a year had made some difference. Surely it had caused him to reflect on the plans he'd made and the promise he'd persuaded her to give. Surely he'd found someone else in a year's time.
Christy's eyes were bright with humor and curiosity as Devon and Garth approached the table. She scanned Garth appraisingly as Devon made introductions.
"Christy, this is Garth Saxon. He's a, uh, friend of mine from Hawk Springs. He owns an Arabian stud farm there called Hawk's Flight. Christy Atkins, Garth. She works out of the same t
emporary-help agency that I do, Garth. We've both been assigned to the same accounting firm this past week. When we finished for the day, we decided to drop in here for a drink."
Garth nodded with a kind of old-fashioned formality that was second nature to him. "Miss Atkins."
"Call me Christy and please sit down. I managed to commandeer an extra chair. How did you find Devon tonight? Did you know she would be here?"
"I got into the city a little early. I phoned the temp agency and they told me where she was working. I decided to drive straight to the office and try to catch her before she left for the day. I was too late, obviously, but someone there thought she might have come over here after work." Garth paused as the cocktail hostess halted by the table. "I'll have a beer."
The hostess nodded. "What kind, sir?"
Garth blinked slowly. "What kind have you got?"
"Ten domestic and twelve foreign. Would you like to see the list?" the hostess asked politely.
"A list? Just to order a beer? No thanks. Give me whatever's on draft."
"We have five labels on draft," the hostess assured him helpfully. She began to recite the names.
Garth cut her off with a small, chopping movement of his hand. He ordered the first one she'd named, looking relieved when the woman finally went away. His mouth curved ruefully as he glanced at the glass of white wine sitting in front of Devon. "If it's this hard to get a pint of beer here, I'd hate to try for a glass of wine."
"It takes a little practice, but you learn how to order what you want," Devon said softly. She picked up her glass and added just before she took a sip, "I've learned a lot of things like that this past year." She watched him from under her lashes as he absorbed the implications of the remark. She knew he understood what she was saying, but it didn't seem to faze him unduly. Garth wouldn't particularly care what upwardly mobile social graces she'd learned in the past twelve months. He didn't have much use for such niceties.
"I imagine you have." Garth shrugged as his beer arrived. "A year is a long time."
Saxon's Lady Page 1
