by Linda Howard
Rule was waiting for her with outward patience, though his big-boned chestnut nudged him in the back and shifted nervously behind him. He also held the reins to a long-legged gray gelding, a horse Cathryn didn’t remember having seen before. Having been around horses all of her life she had no fear of them and rubbed the animal’s nose naturally, letting him learn the smell of her while she talked to him. “Hi, fella, you’re a stranger to me. How long have you been here?”
“A couple of years,” answered Rule, tossing the reins to her. “He’s a good horse, no bad habits, even-tempered. Not like Redman here,” he added ruefully as the chestnut nudged him again, this time with enough force to shove him forward several steps. He swung up into the saddle without offering to help Cathryn, a gesture she would have refused anyway. She was far from helpless on a horse. She mounted and urged the gray into a trot to catch up with Rule, who hadn’t waited.
They rode past the stables, and Cathryn admired the neat paddocks and barns, several of which hadn’t been there during her last visit. Money on the hoof either grazed without paying attention to them or sent soft, curious nickers their way. Playful, long-legged foals romped over the sweet spring grass. Rule lifted his gloved hand to point out a structure. “That’s the new foaling barn. Want to take a look at it?”
She nodded and they swung the horses’ heads in that direction. “There’s only one mare due right now,” he said. “We’re just waiting on her. The last few weeks have been busy, but we have a break now.”
The stalls in the foaling barn were airy and spacious and scrupulously clean; as Rule had said, there was only one occupant now. There in the middle of a large box stall stood a mare in a posture of such utter weariness that Cathryn smiled in sympathy. When Rule held out his hand and clicked his tongue, the mare walked to him with a heavy tread and pushed her head over the stall to be petted. He obliged her, talking to her with that special crooning note in his voice that soothed even the most nervous of animals. When she had been younger Cathryn had tried to duplicate the tone and its effect, but without result.
“We’re one of the best horse-breeding farms in the state now,” Rule said without any evidence of pride, simply stating fact. “Buyers are coming from every state, even Hawaii.”
When they resumed their ride Rule didn’t say much, letting Cathryn see for herself the changes that had been made. She was also silent, but she knew that the operation she saw was well run. The fences and paddocks were in excellent shape; the animals were healthy and spirited with no signs of ill-use; the buildings were strong and clean and wore fresh coats of paint. The bunkhouse had been added to and modernized. To her surprise, she also noticed several small cottages to the rear of the ranch house, some distance away but within a comfortable range. She pointed to them. “Are those houses?”
He grunted an affirmative answer. “Several of the hands are married. I had to do something or have some good men a long way off if I needed them during the night.” He slanted a dark glance at her, but Cathryn had no objection to the houses; it seemed a logical move to her. Even if she had an objection she wouldn’t have voiced it, not wanting to start an argument with him. Not that Rule argued. He simply stated his position and backed it up. Without looking at him she was aware of the power of his body, his long, steely-muscled legs that controlled half-ton horses with ease, the dark-fire gaze that made people back away.
“Want to ride out and see the cattle?” he asked, and without waiting for her answer headed out, leaving Cathryn to follow or not. She followed, keeping the gray’s head just even with the chestnut’s shoulder. It was a brisk ride to the west pasture where the white-faced Herefords were grazing, and it made her predict ruefully that she would regret all of this in the morning. Her muscles weren’t used to so much activity.
The herd was small—astonishingly so. She said as much to Rule, and he drawled, “We’re not in the cattle business anymore. What we raise is for our own use mostly. We’re horse breeders now.”
Stunned, Cathryn stared at him for a moment, then shouted, “What do you mean? This is a cattle ranch! Who gave you the authority to get rid of the cattle?”
“I don’t need anyone to ‘give’ me any authority,” he replied sharply. “We were losing money on the cattle, so I changed operations. If you had been here, I’d have talked it over with you, but you didn’t care enough to visit.”
“That’s not true!” she yelled. “You know why I didn’t visit more often! You know it’s because of—” She cut herself off abruptly, sick with emotion but still stopping short of admitting her weakness to him.
He waited, but she said nothing else and he turned Redman’s head back to the east. The sun was dipping low, but they kept to a leisurely pace, not talking. What was there to say? Cathryn paid no attention to their exact location until Rule reined in his horse at the top of a gentle rise and she looked down to see the river and a clump of trees, the wide sheltered area where she had swum naked that hot July day, and the grassy bank where Rule had made love to her. Though aware that he was watching her with sharp intensity, she couldn’t prevent the healthy color from leaving her cheeks. “Damn you,” she said in a shaky voice, leaving it at that, but she knew that he would catch her meaning.
He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “What are you so upset about? I’m not going to attack you, for heaven’s sake. We’re going to walk the horses down there and let them have some water, that’s all. Come on.”
Now the color flamed into her cheeks and she seethed at how easily he had made her make a fool of herself. She took a tight hold on her self-control and followed him down the slope to the river with no hint of her agitation showing on her face, but every inch of her body remembered.
It was here that he had found her skinny-dipping and harshly ordered her out of the water, threatening to haul her out if she didn’t leave it willingly. She had stomped out of the river, outraged at his high-handed attitude, and waded right into battle without once considering the possible consequences of attacking a man while she was totally nude. What had happened had been more her fault than Rule’s, she admitted now with more maturity than she had been capable of eight years earlier. He had tried to hold her off and soothe her out of her temper, but his hands had slipped over her bare wet flesh, and he was all man, so blatantly virile that his masculinity was like a flashing neon sign to every woman who saw him. When he ground his mouth harshly against hers, stopping her screams of fury, she had changed in one heart-stopping instant from white-hot fury to the dark blaze of desire. She had no idea how to control her own responses or exactly what responses she was arousing in him, but he had demonstrated the last point in the most explicit way possible.
When he dismounted to let his horse drink, Cathryn followed suit. He noticed the slight stiffness of her movements and said, “You’re going to be sore if you don’t get a rubdown. I’ll take care of you when we get back.”
She stiffened at the thought of him massaging her legs and refused the offer more abruptly than she’d meant to. “Thanks, but I can manage it myself.”
He shrugged. “It’s your pain.”
Somehow his easy acceptance of her refusal irritated her even further, and she glared at him as they remounted and began the ride back to the house. Now that he had mentioned it, she was aware of her steadily increasing soreness with every yard they covered. Only pride kept her from requesting that they slow the pace, and her jaw was rigidly set when they finally reached the stables.
He swung out of the saddle and was beside her before she could kick her feet out of the stirrups. Without a word he reached up and clasped her waist, carefully lifting her down, and she knew that he realized just exactly how uncomfortable she was. She muttered her thanks and moved away from him.
“Go on up to the house and tell Lorna I’ll be ready to eat in about half an hour,” he ordered. “Hurry, or you won’t have time to get the horse smell off beforehand.”
That thought loosened her stiff musc
les, and it wasn’t until she was going into the house that she thought to be irritated at the fact that mealtimes had to conform to his schedule. She hesitated, then remembered that, after all, he did the work around there, so it was only fair that he have hot meals. On the heels of that thought came the idea that he could always eat with the other hands; no one had invited him into the main house. He hadn’t waited for an invitation, she thought, then sighed, and dutifully passed along his message to Lorna, who smiled and nodded.
Neither Monica nor Ricky presented themselves, so she dashed up the stairs and took a fast shower. Meals on the ranch weren’t formal, but she changed into a sleeveless cotton dress rather than jeans, and carefully applied her makeup, driven by some deeply buried feminine instinct that she was hesitant to examine too closely. As she was brushing her dark mahogany-red hair into a smooth bell that curved against her shoulders, a brief knock sounded on the door, which promptly opened to admit her stepsister.
Her first thought was that Ricky’s last marriage must have been a rough one. The dark hair was lustrous, the dainty body slim and firm, but there was a febrile tenseness about her, and lines of discontent were fanning out from the corners of her eyes and lips. Ricky was a lovely, exotic woman, a younger version of Monica, with her ripe mouth and slanted hazel eyes, her golden-hued skin. The effect of that beauty, however, was ruined by the petulance of her expression.
“Welcome home,” she purred, lifting a graceful hand, which held a glass with two inches of amber liquid in the bottom. “Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, but I forgot that today was the big day. I’m sure Rule took good care of you.” She took a healthy swallow of her drink and gave Cathryn a twisted, malicious grin. “But then, Rule always takes good care of his women, doesn’t he? All of them.”
Suddenly, uneasily, Cathryn wondered if Ricky somehow knew about that day by the river. It was difficult to tell; Ricky’s normal style of conversation tended to be vicious, springing from her own discontent and internal fears. For the time being Cathryn decided to ignore the insinuations in Ricky’s tone and words, and greeted her normally.
“It’s nice to be home again after so long. Things have changed, haven’t they? I almost wouldn’t have recognized the place.”
“Oh, yesss,” Ricky drawled, letting the “yes” linger on a sibilant whisper. “Rule’s the boss, didn’t you know? He has everything going his way; everybody jumps when he says jump. He’s not the outcast anymore, sister dear. He’s an upstanding—and outstanding—member of our little community, and he runs this place with an iron fist. Or he almost does.” She winked at Cathryn. “He doesn’t have me under his thumb yet. I know what he’s up to.”
Determined not to react or ask Ricky what she meant, knowing that in her half-drunken state any sensible conversation was impossible, Cathryn took Ricky’s arm and gently but firmly steered her to the stairs. “Lorna should have dinner on the table by now. I’m starving!”
As they left the room, Rule approached them and his hard mouth tightened when he saw the glass in Ricky’s hand. Without a word he reached out and relieved her of it. For a moment Ricky looked up at him with a kind of tense, pleading fear; then she visibly mastered herself and trailed a fingertip down his shirtfront, tracing a path from button to button. “You’re so masterful,” she purred. “No wonder you can have your pick of women. I was just telling Cathryn about them...your women, I mean.” She gave him a sweetly poisonous smile and continued down the stairs, satisfaction evident in the sway of her slim, graceful body.
Rule swore softly under his breath while Cathryn stood there trying to understand what Ricky was getting at and why it was making Rule angry. There was the possibility that Ricky was getting at nothing. She loved to say upsetting things just for the joy of watching the stir. But just worrying about it wouldn’t give her any answers. She turned to Rule and asked him directly, “What’s she getting at?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. Instead he sniffed suspiciously at the contents of the glass he held, then tossed the remainder of the drink back in one swallow. A terrible grimace twisted his features. “God,” he choked, his voice strained. “How did I ever drink this stuff?”
Cathryn almost laughed aloud. From the day her father had carried him home, Rule had refused to drink liquor, even beer. His surprised reaction now was somehow endearing, as if he had revealed a hidden part of himself to her. He looked up and caught her grin, and she was startled when his hard fingers slid under her hair and clasped the back of her neck. “Are you laughing at me?” he demanded, his voice soft. “Don’t you know that can be dangerous?”
She knew better than most just how dangerous Rule could be, but she wasn’t frightened now. An odd exhilaration made her blood tumble through her veins and she tilted her head back to look at him. “I’m not afraid of you, big man,” she said in both taunt and invitation—an invitation she hadn’t meant to issue, but one that came so naturally that she had voiced it almost before the thought was completed. A second too late, she tried to cover her mistake by throwing in hastily, “Tell me what Ricky meant—”
“Damn Ricky,” he growled as his fingers tightened on her neck a split second before his mouth closed on hers. Cathryn was surprised by the gentle quality of the kiss. Her lips softened and parted easily under the persuasive pressure and movements of his. He made a rough sound in his throat and turned her more fully into his arms, pressing her to him, his hand sliding down her back to her hips and arching her into the power of his loins and thighs. Her fingers clenched on his shirt sleeves in response to the heated pleasure that flared deeply within her. She was vividly aware of his male attraction, and everything that was female within her strained to answer the primitive call of his nature. It had never been like this with any other man; she had begun to realize that it never would be, that this was something unique for her. David hadn’t stood a chance against the dark magic that Rule practiced so effortlessly.
The thought of David was a lifeline to grasp, something to pull her mind away from the sensual whirlpool he was drawing her into. She tore her lips away from his with a gasp but was unable to move from his arms. It wasn’t that he held her captive, but that she lacked the strength to push him away. Instead she let her body lie against him while she rested her head on his shoulder, inhaling the aphrodisiac of his warm male scent.
“It’s good,” he muttered huskily, bending his head to bite at the delicate earlobe bared by the tilt of her head. “You’re not a kid now, Cat.”
What did that mean? she wondered with a flash of panic. That he no longer saw any need to keep away from her? Was he warning her that he wouldn’t try to keep their relationship platonic? And who was she trying to kid? Their relationship hadn’t been platonic in years, even though they had never made love since that day by the river.
From somewhere she dredged up enough strength to pull away from him and lift her head proudly. “No, I’m not a kid. I’ve learned how to say no to unwanted advances.”
“Then mine must be wanted, because you sure as hell didn’t say no,” he taunted softly, moving his body in such a way that she was eased to the head of the stairs. So that was how a cow felt when being gently but inexorably herded to wherever a cowboy wanted, she thought on a slightly hysterical note. She took a deep breath and briskly composed herself, which was just as well, because suddenly Monica appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“Cathryn, Rule, whatever is keeping you?”
That was Monica—not even a greeting, though it had been almost three years since she’d last seen her stepdaughter. Cathryn didn’t object to Monica’s remoteness. At least it was honest. She went down the stairs with Rule close behind her, his hand resting casually on the small of her back.
The table wasn’t formal. After a long, hot day on the ranch a man wanted a meal, not a social occasion. Cathryn’s decision to wear a dress had been an unusual one, but now she noticed that Ricky had also elected to leave off her jeans and instead wore a white gauze dress that wouldn�
�t have been out of place at a party. She knew instinctively that Ricky didn’t have a date that night, so she had to be dressing up for Rule’s benefit.
Cathryn’s eyes strayed to Rule as he sat in the chair where Ward Donahue had always sat. For the first time she noticed that he had changed into dark brown cords and a crisp white shirt, with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled back to reveal brawny tanned forearms. Her breath caught as she watched him, examined the features that had so often occupied her dreams. His hair was thick and as silky as a child’s, with only a hint of curl; both his hair and eyes were that precise, peculiar shade that was neither black nor brown, but a color that she could define only as dark. His forehead was broad, his brows straight and heavy over a thin, high-bridged nose that flared into spirited nostrils. His lips were chiseled, sensual, but capable of compressing into a grim line or twisting into an enraged snarl. His broad shoulders strained at the white cloth that covered them, while in the open neck of the shirt she could see the beginnings of the virile curls that decorated his chest and arrowed down his abdomen. She knew all of that about him, knew exactly the texture of that hair beneath her fingers....
Slowly she became aware of the amusement in his eyes and she realized that she had been staring openly, practically eating him with her eyes. She flushed and fidgeted nervously with her fork, not daring to look at either Monica or Ricky for fear they had also noticed.
