by Linda Howard
It was obvious that Rule desired her physically. Why not? She wasn’t a raving beauty, but she was passable in most areas and many people found her leggy grace and exotic coloring attractive. Rule was a normal male with all the normal male needs and responses, so there was no reason why he shouldn’t want her. It was when she delved below the surface that she became overwhelmed by doubts and possibilities, none of them pleasant.
As well as she knew Rule, as intimate as she was with every line of his body and nuance of his expression and voice, she was violently aware that he kept a great deal of himself locked away. He was a man who had lived through hell and emerged from the fires with nothing of value left, no illusions or dreams to buffer him from the stark reality of what he had experienced; and he had returned “home” to find that in fact he had no home, that emotionally he had been cast adrift. The hand that Ward Donahue had extended to him had literally saved his life, and from that moment he had poured his devotion into the ranch that had sheltered him and allowed him to rebuild the blasted ruin of his life.
She could marry him, yes, but she would never know if he had married her for love of herself or for love of the ranch that came with her. She was a package deal, and for the first time in her life she wished that the ranch weren’t hers. Leaving wouldn’t solve the problem for her, but it would give her the opportunity to decide in a rational way whether she could marry Rule and live with him in any sort of serenity, able to accept that she would never know for certain. She couldn’t be rational around Rule; he reduced her to the most basic responses.
It was an old problem, one that heiresses were traditionally troubled with: Did he want her or her possessions? In this case it wasn’t a question of money but of security and dark emotions buried so deep in Rule’s subconscious that perhaps even he wasn’t aware of his motivation.
Cathryn finally got out of bed and listlessly began packing. She had barely begun when the door opened and Rule stood there.
He was dressed in fresh clothing, his expression blank, but lines of weariness scored his face. He said evenly, “Come riding with me.”
She looked away. “I have to pack—”
“Please,” he interrupted, and she quivered at hearing that unaccustomed word from him. “Come riding with me this one last time,” he coaxed. “If I can’t convince you to stay, then I’ll take you to wherever you want to go to catch a flight out of Texas.”
She sighed, rubbing her forehead in an agitated gesture. Why couldn’t she just make a clean break? She had to be the world’s biggest glutton for punishment. “All right,” she gave in. “Let me get dressed.”
For a moment he looked disinclined to leave, his dark eyes telling her that that was a silly thing to say to a man who had made love to her as he had the night before. But then he nodded and closed the door. With her senses acutely aware of him, she felt his presence and knew that he was leaning against the wall outside her room. Quickly she dressed and brushed the worst of the tangles from her hair. When she opened the door, he straightened and extended his hand to her, then let it drop before she could decide whether to take it or not.
They walked in silence to the stables, where they saddled the horses. The early morning was pleasantly cool and the horses were full of energy, impatient with the slow walk that the firm hands on the reins held them to. After several minutes of silence Cathryn kneed her horse closer to Rule’s and said abruptly, “What did you want to talk about?”
His eyes were shadowed by the battered black hat that he habitually wore low as protection against the fierce Texas sun, and she could read nothing in the portion of his face that was exposed to her gaze. “Not now,” he refused. “Let’s just ride and look at the land.”
She was content enough to do that, loving the well-tended look of the pastures, and aching inside at the thought of leaving all of this again. The fencing was sturdy and in good repair; all of the outbuildings were clean and freshly painted. Rule’s stewardship had been nothing short of outstanding. Even when her resentment had been at its hottest she had never doubted his feelings for the land. She had acknowledged that even in the depths of adolescent confusion.
They were away from the paddocks and barns now, and crossing a pasture. Rule reined in his horse and nodded in the direction of the ranch buildings. “I’ve been holding this place for you,” he said harshly. “Waiting for you to come back to it. I can’t believe you don’t want it.”
She swallowed a flash of anger and cried indignantly, “Not want it! How can you think that? I love this place; it’s my home.”
“Then live here; make it your home.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she said, bitterness lacing her tone. “It’s just that...oh, damn you, Rule, you must know that you’re the reason I’ve stayed away!”
His mouth twisted as her bitterness was reflected back at her. “Why? Do you believe everything that was said about me when I came back from Nam?”
“Of course not!” she denied hotly. “Nobody does!”
“Some did. I have a vivid recollection of several people trying their level best to make me pay in blood for everything they thought I’d done.” His face was stony, cold, as he brought one of his black memories up into the fresh and sunny morning.
Cathryn shuddered and reached out to grasp his muscular forearm, bared by the rolled-up sleeve of his denim work shirt. “It was never anything like that, believe me! I...at the time, I resented you so much that I couldn’t think straight.”
“Do you still resent me?” he demanded.
“No.” The confession was made in a low voice; she looked at him with troubled, doubtful eyes. Somehow she couldn’t just tell him that she was afraid that he wanted the ranch more than he wanted her. She knew that if she exposed her doubts to him, he would be able to talk her out of them using her weakness for him to railroad her into doing whatever he wanted. She didn’t just want him physically. She wanted his emotional commitment, too.
“Will you reconsider?” he rasped. “Will you think about staying?”
She had to force herself to look away, to keep him from seeing the longing in her eyes. If only she could stay! If only she could be content with what he was offering her, what she suspected was all he was capable of offering to any woman. But she wanted so much more than that, and she was afraid that she would destroy herself if she tried to compromise on that. “No,” she whispered.
He danced Redman around to face her and closed his gloved hand over her reins. His dark face was taut with frustration, his jaw set in a grim line. “Okay, so you leave. What if you’re pregnant? What then? Are you going to insist on handling that on your own? Will you even tell me if I’m going to be a father, or will you just get rid of my baby and pretend that it never existed? When will you know?” he said fiercely.
The words, the idea, stunned her almost as deeply as his unexpected proposal of marriage had done a few hours before. Helplessly she stared at him.
One corner of his mouth curled upward in a smile that was a travesty of amusement. “Don’t look so surprised,” he taunted. “You’re old enough to know how it happens, and neither of us did anything to prevent it.”
Cathryn closed her eyes, shaken by the sweetness she felt at the thought of having his child. Against all common sense, for a moment she prayed with wild longing that it was so, that she was already harboring his child. A tiny, otherworldly smile touched her lips and he cursed between clenched teeth, his gloved hand moving up to grip the nape of her neck.
“Get that look off your face!” he growled. “Unless you want to be on the ground with me, because right now I want you—”
He broke off and Cathryn opened her eyes, devouring the sight of him, unable to control her expression. A muscle flexed in his cheek as he repeated, “When? When will you know?”
Silently she counted, then said, “In a week or so.”
“And if you are? What will you do?”
Cathryn swallowed, facing the inevitable. She really had
no option. She wasn’t a woman who could force illegitimacy on a child when the father was more than willing to marry her. A pregnancy would settle everything except her own doubts. She whispered, “I won’t keep it from you if...if I am.”
He took his hat off and ran his hand through his thick dark hair. Jamming the hat back on his head, he said harshly, “I’ve sweated it out before, wondering if I had made you pregnant. I guess I can do it again. At least this time you’re not just a kid yourself.”
She swallowed again, inexplicably moved to learn that he hadn’t been so unaffected by that day so long ago. She started to speak, though she had no idea what she was going to say, but Rule kneed his horse away from her. “I have work to do,” he muttered. “Let me know when you decide what time you’re leaving. I’ll have the plane ready to go.”
She watched as he rode away from her; then she turned her horse’s head and walked it slowly back to the stables. Their talk had accomplished exactly nothing, except to make her aware of the possible consequences of their nights together.
After returning to the house and picking at her breakfast, she called the airline in Houston and made reservations for the following day, then made a stab at packing. She hadn’t much to pack, really. Most of her clothing was still in Chicago. She had been making do with the old clothes that she had left at the ranch.
The hours dragged; she could scarcely wait until lunch, when she would be able to see Rule again, even if she had forbidden herself the joy of having him. She went downstairs and puttered around, helping Lorna put the meal together, looking constantly out the window.
A horse was galloped into the yard and the rider flung himself off. Cathryn could hear muffled shouts and sensed his urgency, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She and Lorna exchanged worried glances and both stepped to the back door. “What is it?” Cathryn called as Lewis’s tall, lean form ran from the stables to the pickup. “What’s wrong?”
He turned, his hard face drawn. “Rule’s horse went down with him,” he called tersely. “He’s hurt.”
The words punched her in the stomach and she reeled backward, then forced herself upright. On shaking legs she ran to the pickup, where a man had placed one of the mattresses from the bunkhouse in the bed of the truck, and she clambered into the cab beside Lewis. He shot a look at her utterly white face and said nothing, instead slamming the gearshift through its pattern as he raced the truck across the pastures. It seemed that they spent an eternity bouncing in the dust before they reached a small knot of men grouped anxiously around the prone figure on the ground.
Cathryn was out of the truck before it had stopped, sliding to her knees beside him and kicking a fine spray of dust over him. A sickening panic seized her as she saw his closed eyes and pale face. “Rule!” she cried, touching his cheek and not getting a response.
Lewis knelt beside her as her shaking fingers tore at the buttons of Rule’s shirt. It wasn’t until she slid her hand inside and felt the reassuring thud of his heartbeat that she let out the breath she had been holding and raised frantic eyes to Lewis. Lewis was running his hands over Rule’s body, pausing when he reached a point about halfway between knee and ankle on his left leg. “His leg’s broken,” he muttered.
Rule drew in a shuddering breath and his dark lashes fluttered open. Quickly Cathryn bent over him. “Rule...darling, do you understand me?” she asked, seeing the unfocused look in his eyes.
“Yes,” he muttered. “Redman?”
She swiveled her head around to look at the horse. He was standing on all four legs and she couldn’t see any serious swelling. “I think he’s okay. He’s definitely in better shape than you are. Your left leg is broken.”
“I know. I felt it snap.” He gave her a weak smile. “I took quite a knock on the head, too.”
Once again Cathryn raised her worried eyes to meet Lewis’s. A knock on the head meant a possible concussion, and coupling that knowledge with the length of time Rule had been unconscious, the possibility became a probability. Despite his rational answers, the quicker he was taken to a hospital, the better. There was also the horrifying thought of neck or back injuries. She would have given anything to be able to take the pain herself if he would be spared, and in that moment she admitted beyond doubt that she loved him. It wasn’t just desire that she felt for him; she loved him. Why else would she have been so upset that he might have made love to someone else? Why else be so jealous of his kisses? Why else feel so hopeful that he had made her pregnant? She had loved him for a long time, long before she had been mature enough to recognize it for what it was.
The men were moving quickly, efficiently, and she was gently crowded away from Rule. They lifted him gently onto a blanket that had been spread on the ground beside him. She heard a stifled cry of pain and bit down hard on her lower lip, bringing tiny dots of blood to the surface. Lewis said, “You must be getting clumsy, boss, falling off a horse like that,” which brought a tight grin to Rule’s face. The grin faded abruptly when he was lifted, the blanket serving as a stretcher. From between clenched teeth he spat words that Cathryn had heard separately, but never together and with such inventiveness as Rule was using. Sweat was beaded on his face by the time he was placed on the mattress in the back of the truck. Cathryn and Lewis climbed in back with him and Cathryn automatically wiped his face.
“Take it easy on the ride back,” Lewis instructed the man who was doing the driving now, and the man nodded his understanding.
Even when taken at a slow pace, every bump in the ground made Rule’s hands clench into fists, and his face took on a grayish tinge. He brought his hands up and clenched them around his head as if he could buffer it from the swaying of the pickup. Cathryn hovered over him anxiously, suffering for him with every lurch of the truck, but there was nothing she could do.
Lewis met her eyes across Rule’s prone form. “San Antone is closer than Houston,” he said quietly. “We’ll take him there.”
When they reached the ranch two seats were quickly removed from the plane and Rule was placed, mattress and all, in the vacated space. His eyelids were drooping and Cathryn cupped his face in her hands. “Darling, you can’t go to sleep,” she said softly. “Open your eyes and look at me. You can’t go to sleep.”
Obediently he looked at her, his eyes dazed as he concentrated on what she said with heart-wrenching intensity. A half smile touched his pale lips. “Look at me,” he whispered, and she remembered his lovemaking. Was he remembering, too?
“I’ll be all right,” he assured her drowsily. “It’s not that bad. I had a lot worse than this in Nam.”
The doctor at the hospital in San Antonio agreed. Though Rule did have a concussion and would be kept under observation at least overnight, his condition was in no way severe enough to indicate a need for surgery. Except for the lump on his head and his broken leg, they could find no other injuries but various bruises. After the strain of crouching beside him during the flight and trying to keep him awake, finding out that he would be all right had the same effect on Cathryn that bad news would have had: she turned her head into Lewis’s chest and burst into tears.
Instantly his arms went around her and he hugged her tightly. “Why cry now?” he sputtered with relieved laughter.
“Because I can’t help it,” she sniffled.
The doctor laughed and patted her shoulder. “Cry all you want,” he said kindly. “He’ll be fine, I promise. You can take him home in a day or so, and the headache from that concussion should keep him in bed long enough for that leg to get a good start on healing.”
“May we see him now?” asked Cathryn, wiping her eyes. She wanted to see him for herself, to touch him and let him know that she and Lewis were still close by.
“Not yet. We’ve taken him downstairs to have his leg X-rayed and set. I’ll let you know when we have him settled in a room.”
She and Lewis waited in the visitors’ lounge with cups of bitter coffee obtained from the vending machine in the corner. She
was grateful for the presence of the man, stranger though he was. He had never once acted upset or out of control, though he had moved swiftly. If he had revealed any fear, Cathryn knew that she would have fallen apart.
Lewis sprawled back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, his long, booted legs outstretched and reminding her of Rule. Her stomach rumbled and she said, “Rule must be starving. He didn’t have any breakfast this morning.”
“No, he won’t be hungry until after his system is over the shock,” said Lewis. “But we’re another matter. Let’s find the cafeteria. We could both use a meal and a decent cup of coffee.”
“But Rule—”
“Won’t be going anywhere,” insisted Lewis, taking her hand and urging her out of the chair. “We’ll be back long before they’re finished with him, anyway. I’ve had my share of broken bones, just like he has; I know how long it will take.”
His prediction was correct. Though they lingered in the cafeteria it was almost an hour after they returned to the waiting room that a nurse approached them and gave them the welcome information that Rule was now in a room. They went to the proper floor and met the doctor in the corridor.
“It was a clean break. He’ll be as good as new,” he assured them. “I’m certain we don’t have anything to worry about. He’s too ill-tempered to be injured very badly.” He looked at Lewis and shook his head in awe. “He’s the toughest son of a—” With a quick glance at Cathryn he cut himself off short. “He refused any sort of anesthetic, even a local. Said he didn’t like them.”
“No,” said Lewis blandly. “He doesn’t.”
Cathryn moved impatiently and the doctor smiled at her. “Do you want to see him now?” he asked in amusement.
“Yes, of course,” said Cathryn quickly. She needed to get to Rule, to touch him and satisfy herself that he was really all right.
She wasn’t certain what to expect. She was braced for bruises and bandages—something she didn’t know if she could bear when Rule was the patient concerned. What she found when they opened the door was tousled dark hair, a face that managed to be both sleepy and annoyed, and a leg encased in a pristine cast that was supported by a sling rigged from a contraption stationed at the foot of the bed.
