Saxon's Lady

by Stephanie Janes

  "What is all this about a year?" Christy demanded, glancing from Devon to Garth and back again.

  "I've been away from Hawk Springs for a year," Dev­on rushed to explain. She didn't succeed in stopping Garth from adding his two cents' worth.

  "Devon wanted a year of city life before she got mar­ried," he said casually to Christy.

  "Before she got marriedl" Christy looked suddenly torn between shock and amusement, as if she were expecting Devon to tell her it was all a joke. "You never told me you had any marriage plans, Devon."

  "It's a long story," Devon tried to say with a dismissive air.

  Garth's eyes roved appraisingly over Devon's flushed face. "A year-long story," he agreed. "But it's finally finished."

  "Devon, for crying out loud, tell me what's going on?" Christy looked fascinated. "Are you really going to marry this man?"

  "Uh, it's not settled yet," Devon began, only to be in­terrupted by Garth.

  "Of course, it's settled. That's why I'm here." He glanced at the stainless steel watch on his wrist. "When you finish playing with that glass of wine, Devon, we'll be on our way. Got a lot to do, from the sound of it." He shook his head in mild disgust. "I can't believe you haven't even started packing. We've got some work ahead of us this evening if we're going to be on the road tomorrow."

  "On the road? But, Devon, what about your job?" Christy said a little helplessly.

  Devon sighed. "I'm a temporary employee, remember? Here today, gone tomorrow. The agency won't have any trouble finding another substitute."

  Devon knew she could have gotten a better job than the one she had. At several points during the past year em­ployers who had used her temporarily had offered her full-time, permanent positions that would have offered good possibilities of advancement. Devon had told herself that one of these days she would take one of the offers. But she hadn't quite dared to until the year was over and she could be certain her freedom was for real. Devon sighed again, took another swallow of wine and watched her future wa­ver in front of her like a fun-house mirror.

  "Will one of you please tell me what this is all about?" Christy pleaded. "Devon, why are you marrying this man? You've never even mentioned him to me."

  It was Garth who answered. "It's simple enough. She's marrying me because a year ago she promised she would. We've had an understanding between us."

  Talk about having your fate sealed, Devon thought. "It's a little more complicated than that, Christy."

  "But a year apart?" Christy eyed her friend consider­ingly. "It doesn't make any sense. If you two were en­gaged a year ago why on earth have you waited so long to get married?"

  Garth hoisted his beer. "I agree with you, Miss Atkins. It doesn't make much sense. But that's the way Devon wanted it. In a way I guess I understood, but it's been a damn long year."

  Christy pinned Devon beneath a demanding stare. "Tell me why you've been here in San Francisco for a solid year while your... your fiancé has been in Hawk Springs."

  "Oh, Christy, it's really a long story and I don't think I can explain the whole thing right now."

  Garth looked vaguely amused. "It's not all that com­plicated. I can explain it in twenty-five words or less."

  "So explain!" Christy said.

  Garth shrugged. "A year ago Devon was feeling trapped. She thought she'd been missing out on some­thing and she wanted a year to find out what, exactly, she might have missed. I tried to tell her there wasn't anything out there she really needed, but she was like a high-strung filly with a burr under her saddle. Wouldn't listen to rea­son. So I let her go for a while."

  "That's a lot more than twenty-five words," Devon mumbled. "A high-strung filly with a burr under my sad­dle? Garth, for heaven's sake..."

  Christy's gaze swung to Devon. She ignored her friend's muttered comment and went right to the point. "Why were you feeling trapped?"

  Helplessly Devon slid a sidelong glance at Garth who appeared totally unperturbed by the relentless question­ing. As far as he was concerned everything was settled now. In a few minutes he would be taking Devon back to her apartment. Then he would organize the packing in his usual efficient, methodical style, and when it was done he would load Devon and her baggage into the truck and take both back to Hawk Springs. Devon could read the inex­orable flow of his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud.

  Perhaps it was the mounting sensation of being locked into a preordained pattern of events that made Devon de­cide to answer Christy's questions. Anything to keep the conversation going and forestall the ultimate conclusion to this little scene.

  "I was raised in Hawk Springs," Devon explained qui­etly. "It's a small farming and ranching community out in the Central Valley. A very small community."

  "Truth is," Garth interjected easily, "it's a good size for a town. Everyone knows his neighbors. People look out for each other."

  Devon raised her eyebrows in silent comment to Christy. "I'm sure you get the picture."

  "Hicksville, U.S.A." Christy grinned.

  "In a word, yes," Devon agreed, ignoring Garth's frown. "My parents had a small farm there. Personally, I couldn't wait to get away from the wonders of bucolic bliss. The instant I graduated from high school, I left for Los Angeles. I enrolled at the University of California and set to work on a nice, vague liberal arts degree with a fine arts minor."

  Christy switched her attention to Garth for a few sec­onds. "Did you know her then?"

  He shook his head. "No. I didn't move to Hawk Springs until two and a half years ago when I bought the stud farm. Unlike Devon, I already knew what the big city had to offer and I wasn't impressed."

  Christy turned back to Devon. "All right, go on."

  "During my junior year my parents were killed in an automobile accident." Devon heard her voice tighten and wondered at the reaction. Surely after all this time she had recovered from the shock and the trauma of the tragedy. She broke off, collecting her thoughts, and in the brief si­lence Garth calmly reached out to cover her hand with his own.

  "Devon has two brothers, Lee and Kurt," he explained to Christy. "They were both in their teens when their par­ents were killed. Devon left college to come back to Hawk Springs to take care of them. It wasn't an easy job. The boys were a handful and there were..." Garth hesitated, then said carefully, "money problems. She had to sell the farm to pay off some debts her dad had run up. She moved into town and took a job in the bank. But two years ago she got Kurt into college, and last year Lee started his freshman year. They're both on their own now, paying their way with jobs and a little cash Devon's folks had left in trust funds."

  Understanding lit Christy's expression. She smiled at Devon. "So a year ago, you were finally free again."

  Devon nodded, thinking of what that freedom had meant. At long last she had been free from the burden of scrimping and scraping to make ends meet on the pay she'd received from her clerical job at the bank. Free from having to lie awake at nights worrying about Lee getting into trouble with the law. Free from having to fret about Kurt's too-serious attitude toward life. Free from know­ing everyone in town was waiting to see if she would get herself into trouble with a man.

  She glanced at the hard profile of the man sitting beside her. That last worry had been a minor one until Garth Saxon had come along. She half smiled to herself. Even after he'd arrived in her life, Devon knew she hadn't had to worry overmuch about getting herself into trouble with a man. Garth was the soul of propriety. The last thing he would have done was expose her to gossip.

  His attitude had been protective and supportive. He'd offered friendship when she had needed it most. That had been the year Lee had started running dangerously wild and Devon had faced the fact that she couldn't control her younger brother. Garth had stepped in and supplied the firm hand on the reins that the youth had needed. Lee had responded sullenly at first but the resentment had quickly turned to worship. The boy had turned into a man under Garth's guidance. For that reason alone, Devon
knew she would always feel a deep sense of gratitude toward Garth Saxon. She owed him.

  But it wasn't until the night she announced her inten­tions to shake the dust of Hawk Springs once more from her feet that Devon had finally understood what lay be­neath Garth's protective friendship. He wanted her, and with his usual unfaltering decisiveness, he'd decided she would make him a good wife. He'd merely been biding his time.

  Garth, too, had been waiting for Devon to be free, knowing she wouldn't consider marriage until her brothers had left home. It had been a shock for him, Devon real­ized, when he'd discovered she intended to use her free­dom to flee to the glittering lights of San Francisco.

  Garth had been shaken by her announcement. Devon suspected it was a measure of his shock that he'd actually set about deliberately seducing her that night. All the months of being so careful with her reputation, of walk­ing the narrow line of friendship had gone up in flames when Garth had taken her in his arms and let the full force of his desire envelop her.

  And Devon, to her lasting incomprehension and cha­grin, had melted in his arms like warm honey. He wasn't right for her, nor she for him—or so she'd tried to tell herself. She was meant for city life and Garth was a man of the land. She'd tried telling him that, too, but he hadn't listened. He'd simply held her more tightly, touched her more intimately and, finally, taken her completely. Lost in the mind-spinning excitement of Garth's sensual posses­sion, Devon had almost believed him when he told her they belonged together.

  In the end the bargain had been struck. It had been all Devon could do to cling to a year of freedom. During those hours of raging passion she'd almost surrendered entirely. If she'd done so, she knew she would have been married a year ago. Garth Saxon was not a man to put off until to­morrow what he thought ought to be done today.

  Days, weeks, months later she told herself it had all been a ghastly mistake, one Garth, himself, was certain to ac­knowledge as time passed.

  But here he was, one year later to the day, expecting her to keep her rash promise. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she watched Garth glance again at his watch.

  "It's time to go, Devon." He put down his empty glass and got to his feet. "Where's your coat?"

  Devon's fingers shook slightly as she set her own glass down on the table with care. "On that hook over there." She indicated a brass hook on the wall that was buried under a variety of stylish trench coats and umbrellas. "The khaki one."

  Garth followed her glance. "They're all khaki."

  "It's the style, Garth. Sort of like cowboy boots back in Hawk Springs. Everyone wears them. My coat has a yel­low scarf around the collar."

  Christy watched him move purposefully across the room. Garth cut through the crowd with the ease of an Arabian stallion moving through a herd of Shetland po­nies. Christy whistled soundlessly. "I can't believe this, Devon."

  Devon collected her expensive leather clutch bag and rose to her feet. "Neither can I."

  "Are you really going with him?"

  Devon hesitated. "For now," she said softly. "I have to go with him Christy. Garth and I need to talk."

  "I don't think talking is going to change his mind. That man's already waited a solid year. He wants you, Devon."

  Devon tightened her grip on the leather clutch as she turned her head to watch Garth stride back toward them, khaki trench coat in hand. "We're all wrong for each other. But he doesn't seem to understand that. I'm city and he's country. Why can't he see that?"

  "Probably," Christy remarked dryly, "because he's looking at something a bit more fundamental. He's a man and you're the woman he wants. I have a hunch that for him it's all fairly simple and straightforward. Do you love him, Devon?"

  Devon was startled by the question. For an instant words deserted her. Then she said in a rush, "Love him? Christy, you don't seem to comprehend the situation. I've tried to explain..."

  "I've known you for almost a whole year, Devon, and I would stake my next paycheck that you haven't let any man do more than give you a polite good-night kiss after a date. Your social life is active enough, but hardly pas­sionate. You've got lots of friends, but no lovers. There's been more than one or two men this past year who would have been quite happy to receive an invitation to bed and even a serious relationship."

  Devon was shocked. "I couldn't possibly have gotten involved in a serious relationship with any of the men I've been dating."

  "Why not? Some of them were quite nice."

  "Yes, but..." Devon's voice trailed off weakly as she realized just what she was tacitly admitting. There had been no other man for her this past year. She had told herself it was because she was too busy enjoying her free­dom to get involved with a serious commitment. But deep down she knew there'd always been another reason for keeping her dates casual and uncomplicated.

  There was no sense fooling herself. Subconsciously she'd been waiting for Garth.

  "Well?" Christy prompted.

  "It's crazy," Devon whispered in soft panic. She didn't want to think about Christy's question. "The whole thing is total nonsense. Don't you see, Christy? Garth and I are all wrong for each other."

  She jumped as she felt Garth's hand on her shoulder. He settled the trench coat around her shoulders without a word. Mutely she glanced up at him, wondering how much he'd overheard. But he merely smiled slightly and nodded politely toward Christy.

  Then he guided Devon gently but firmly toward the door as if she were a nervous little stray filly he'd rounded up to take home.

  Two

  Devon was still skittish, still looking for a way to avoid him, still clinging to her muddled notion of freedom, Garth thought as he guided the late-model pickup out of the downtown financial district. Perhaps a year's grace had been a mistake, after all.

  It had certainly given her a sophisticated veneer, he had to admit. At a stoplight he examined her covertly as she sat beside him in the cab. She hadn't said a word since they'd left the pub. Mentally he cataloged the things about her that had changed. None of them mattered. Underneath she was still the gallant, vibrant woman who'd captivated him from the first moment they'd met. He sensed she would always have the power to make his body tighten with de­sire even as she aroused his protective instincts.

  Objectively speaking, he knew she wasn't beautiful. There was an open, honest attractiveness about her that lacked the aloof mystery of classic beauty. He remem­bered her in faded jeans that fit lovingly over her sweetly curving hips. And he remembered the shape of those soft thighs under his hands. She had felt so good, so soft and sexy and she'd given herself so completely that night.

  For a year Garth had been living with the white-hot memories of the night he'd lost his self-control and taken Devon to bed. The brilliance of her golden eyes as she'd looked up at him from beneath her lashes had tormented him for twelve long months. The vivid recollection of the tight, throbbing feel of her clinging body had caused him to spend more than one night since then lying awake in an agony of frustration. At four in the morning he would sometimes imagine he could hear the soft cries she'd made when she'd shivered and convulsed in his arms. In the cold hours before dawn he frequently found himself conjuring up the memory of how it had felt to twist his hands deep into her long tawny hair. That kind of imagination had nearly driven him out of his mind at times.

  Turning Hawk's Flight into a first-class stud farm had been a sixteen-hour-a-day job since he'd bought the place two and a half years ago. He probably could have relaxed a little this past year as his plans for the ranch began to take concrete shape. But he'd kept up the hard pace be­cause he'd needed to work off the frustration of waiting for Devon. Now, at last, the waiting was over.

  "I liked your hair the old way," he stated suddenly as the light changed.

  Devon glanced at him and then back at the traffic in front of the truck. "Do you? I like it this way. More mod­ern."

  "Probably more expensive, too," he remarked idly.

  Her mouth curved in a secret li
ttle smile. "You're right. I have to have it trimmed every six weeks and my stylist costs a fortune."

  "I doubt if Willy Mae is going to be able to keep it looking that way for you," Garth persisted. Willy Mae had been Hawk Springs's only hairdresser for the past fifteen years.

  "You could be right," Devon said noncommittally. "Willy Mae peaked professionally just before she came to Hawk Springs. She hasn't done anything since to keep up with the latest styles. Everyone who comes out of her shop is at least fifteen years out of date. Take a left here."

  "I remember," Garth said gently. He had only visited Devon once in her San Francisco apartment. That had been at Christmas when Lee and Kurt had told him they were going to be spending the holiday with their sister in the city. It hadn't taken much to get himself invited along. Devon had put up a tree, cooked a traditional meal and wrapped presents for everyone. It had been a cheerful, festive occasion. Afterward the three men had spent the night in sleeping bags in her small living room. The next day all three had left. Garth hadn't been able to think of an excuse to stay, and Devon hadn't asked him to remain behind after her brothers left. There had still been four months to go in her year of freedom and Garth had been bound by his end of the bargain.

  Now, fifteen minutes after leaving the heart of the city, Garth finally found a space for the pickup in front of Devon's Victorian-style flat. It was typical of the apart­ments that lined the neighborhood streets. He opened the door of the truck and went around to Devon's side of the vehicle. She already had her door open by the time he got there. Devon had grown up in farming country where women didn't expect men to open pickup truck doors for them. Garth wondered if she'd been dating anyone who did open car doors. With her new tastes, they would have been Porsche doors.

  "What's the matter, Garth?" Devon asked as she fished her keys out of the leather clutch and led the way toward the door. "You look as if you just found out one of your prize mares had decided to refuse a stallion you'd hand-picked for her."