HIS TENDER TOUCH

by Sharon Mignerey

  He had been on the money. To confess that she liked almost everyone she'd ever met and that she got along well with almost anyone didn't seem believable in the present circumstance. Everything that had happened since her arrival was so out of her experience, she kept thinking this was a dream from which she would soon awaken. In fact, she hoped so.

  Gray must have read something of her agreement in her expression because he nodded and continued. "Richard wasn't here when he said he would be, so you must be wondering."

  "I am," she admitted.

  "And there's me," he continued. "And you're probably thinking, what was I doing in the hall?" Gray swallowed the last of his cake. "I'm Richard's cousin. That's true. If I were you, I'd be saying to myself, who do I trust? Richard's apparently up to something, Hawk can't wait for you to leave and I've got ties to Richard that could put me in cahoots with him."

  She hadn't gotten so far as putting all that together. "You sound like a detective or something."

  "Or something," he muttered.

  She took a bite of the cake and, as Gray had, savored the flavor of chocolate and, surprisingly, cinnamon.

  "A piece of advice, Audrey." He nudged away his empty plate and leaned toward her. "Do your audit and leave."

  "Howard knows something is going on. That's why he sent me."

  Gray's jaw clinched. "Don't admit that to me, woman. Damn! Don't you have any sense?"

  "What?" she asked, baffled.

  "Just because I lay this all out for you nice and neat—that doesn't mean anything. Talk about a lamb among wolves. Don't trust anybody."

  "But if you—"

  "Don't … trust … anybody." He stood, bracing his hands on the table, and loomed over her, filled with the same tension she had sensed before. His gaze traveled over her face, lingered a fraction on her mouth. She licked away a crumb of cake, intensely aware of his scrutiny.

  "Not even you?"

  "Especially not me."

  "Even though you're warning me to—"

  "You're a woman who does what she wants. Just don't be stupid about it." His expression became shuttered.

  "I'm—"

  "And don't go snooping around. The scent from your shampoo and your bath—I noticed that, too."

  She swallowed, remembering again how close he had been to her, remembering she had been able to smell him, too. Clean. Masculine. Faintly musky. Being so close was better than she had ever dared imagine. Tiny electric brushes of sensation curled through her.

  "When I checked a little while ago, Richard had locked himself in his quarters. I'll make sure Hawk has gone back to his cabin. So you don't need to worry."

  "Even though I'm not supposed to trust anybody, even you."

  A bare flicker of humor lit his eyes.

  "The lady is learning." He straightened and headed for the door. "Can you find your way back to your room?"

  She nodded, not sure at all she could, but unwilling to make the admission to him.

  "See you in the morning, then."

  She watched him close the door behind him. With his departure, the kitchen seemed enormous, and she felt very alone.

  Sipping her tea, she centered her thoughts on Gray's precise summation of the situation. She would never have analyzed this evening the way he did. Never. She would have still been wondering if she had really heard the threats and been trying to convince herself she had misunderstood.

  She gathered the few dishes they had used, washed them at one of the giant sinks, dried them and put them away. All the while, his warning echoed through her mind. Don't trust anyone. She faced life presuming most people were honest, and so far, they had been. She wasn't stupid, though. She locked her house, hid her Christmas shopping in the trunk of her car and never gave out her credit-card number over the phone. But not to trust anyone? She couldn't live like that.

  When she left the kitchen, though, she did so warily with Gray's warning in the back of her mind and her own apprehension of Hawk. At this point, she wasn't looking forward to meeting Richard, either.

  By the time she got back to her room, she felt chilled again from walking barefoot on the cold floor. The door was slightly ajar, and she remembered she hadn't locked it when she left. She pushed open the door and glanced around the room before entering, even as she cursed Gray for his warning.

  The elusive phantom that brought her dinner had been back. Recalling how silently Gray moved, she decided her image of phantom fit—no cheerful leprechaun, but a shadow-spirit that recognized her wishes.

  More wood had been stacked in the cubbyhole, and some had been added to the fire, which banished the chill. A quilt with geometric squares of blue, cream and terra-cotta covered the bed, as though someone—she was convinced it was Gray—knew she had been cold.

  She glanced at the intricately carved wood panel and again had the sensation of being watched. She picked up the shirt she had worn earlier and draped it in front of the panel. The makeshift curtain was no protection from her imagination, but she felt reassured.

  After making sure she had locked the door, she climbed into bed without taking off her robe and made one last discovery from her phantom. A warm stone wrapped in flannel was at the bottom of her bed, which had wonderfully heated the sheets. She rested her feet on the stone and gratefully soaked up the warmth. She yawned, vaguely surprised she felt drowsy at all.

  Don't trust anybody.

  Not even Gray.

  Not possible, she thought. He was exactly the kind of man a person would trust … with her life, even.

  Hours later, she thought she heard whispered warnings swirl around her and she could have sworn she heard her name. She opened her eyes and stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace. The coals seemed like evil eyes, watching, ever watching. With a mutter of disgust at her own childish fears, she tossed the covers back and got out of bed to add more wood to the fire. Climbing back in bed, she pulled the covers to her chin and watched the shadows rippling on the ceiling.

  Faint sounds slithered through the room, a draft, she told herself. She listened a moment longer, then closed her eyes. Again the forlorn sounds became hushed voices that carried veiled words she could almost understand.

  Sleep, when it came, was fitful, filled with dire warnings she couldn't make sense of and the reassuring presence of a large man with intent eyes.

  * * *

  The following morning, Audrey dressed, more than a little disgusted with her choice of wardrobe. She had not packed anything that would sufficiently keep away the chill of the wet, gloomy day that met her gaze when she opened the drapes. She remembered Gray telling her the outside shutters were closed last night. This morning, they had been opened, and the world beyond the window looked bleak.

  She finally layered a blue calico print shirt over a red sleeveless sweater and jeans. She thrust her bare feet into a pair of deck shoes, wishing for socks.

  When she had asked Howard what Puma's Lair was like, he had told her the climate was similar to another resort he owned outside of Scottsdale, Arizona, but the atmosphere was more casual. "Think warm," he had urged her. At the time, she had thought he was talking about the weather, but concluded he had been talking about clothes.

  She ventured from her room, discovering that the glass hall faced a courtyard with an adobe wall on the opposite side and more windowed hallways on the other two sides. Doors at either end of the corridor provided access to the yard. In fair weather, it would be a pleasant place to sit.

  The aroma of bacon and cooking onions grew stronger as Audrey approached the kitchen. She heard the murmur of voices—Gray's and a woman's.

  Audrey's stomach tightened, and she momentarily slowed her steps. As she straightened the collar on her shirt and adjusted the silver bracelets on her wrist, the memory of being held in his arms washed over her.

  "Can Mr. Lambert really sell off the mineral and water rights?" the woman in the kitchen asked.

  Mineral rights? Water rights? Audrey cocked her head to the s
ide. How very odd. Howard hadn't said a thing about mineral or water rights for Puma's Lair. Yet she had been investigating the sale of water rights for another property he owned in southern Colorado. The money raised would leave him short of the amount he needed for his newest resort, but he would be a whole lot closer.

  "He owns it, so he can do pretty much what he wants," Gray answered.

  The woman made an unhappy sound, then said, "Richard should stop it."

  "That takes money—lots of it, which Richard doesn't have. And even if he did, the ranch doesn't belong to him."

  Nothing more was said, so Audrey went to the doorway and looked inside.

  Gray sat on one of the stools at the big worktable. In daylight, gloomy as it was, his hair was a golden brown, lighter than Audrey had imagined last night. It was a color she envied, thinking her own hair the color of mud in comparison. His hair curled over the collar of his shirt, a hunter green plaid flannel that looked warm.

  Audrey forced her attention beyond the man. A plump Indian woman hovered over the stove, her back to the door. A pair of skylights made the room brighter, and several lit kerosene lanterns provided a cheery glow.

  "Hi," Audrey said from the doorway.

  "Good morning," Gray said, standing up. He pulled out the stool next to his and motioned toward it. "How'd you sleep?"

  "As well as could be expected."

  "For thunderstorms, an unfamiliar bed and being cold."

  The knot of awareness in Audrey's stomach gave another tug. "Yeah."

  "Mary, this is Audrey Sussman," Gray said. "Audrey, Mary Maktima."

  She wiped her hands on her apron, a tentative smile on her face, and came toward Audrey. "I'm happy to meet you, Miss Sussman."

  "Please call me Audrey. Last night, I had a piece of cake you baked. Delicious."

  "But now you're ready for breakfast."

  "As a matter of fact, I'm starved. I don't know what you're cooking, but it smells great."

  "Green chilies," Gray said. "Her favorite ingredient."

  Mary smiled over her shoulder at him, her smile warmer than the polite one she had given Audrey. "I have not seen you complain." She came back to the table carrying a pot of coffee and another cup. She filled it and handed it to Audrey, then filled the cup in front of Gray as he sat back down. "Now tell me about your drive. Did you come from Denver?"

  "Yes," Audrey answered. "I thought I was leaving winter behind, coming to New Mexico."

  "Ah, Mr. Lambert, he forgot to tell you about the rain."

  "He forgot to tell me a lot of things," Audrey murmured.

  "When you didn't get here yesterday, I was worried you had problems of some kind—car trouble or something."

  "I did," Audrey said. Somehow, in the light of day, confessing that the car had given her trouble was much easier—safer. "In fact, my car still isn't working right."

  Mary patted Gray's arm as she came by. "You should talk to this man, then. If it has an engine, he can fix it."

  "What's wrong with it?" Gray asked.

  "I'm not sure," Audrey said. "It runs, but the engine isn't smooth, and if I give it too much gas, it dies."

  "Richard was worried when you were late," Mary said. "He fussed all morning, hoping you'd arrive before he left for Albuquerque."

  "That's odd," Audrey responded. "I'm pretty sure I told him I wouldn't be getting away from Denver until about noon. He even warned me to watch out for the deer after it got dark."

  Mary set plates of steaming food in front of her and Gray.

  "This looks great." Audrey picked up her fork, taking a bite of the hash browns, which were liberally spiced with green chilies.

  "Mr. Lambert, when he comes, often brings his son. I thought perhaps you'd bring your family with you. Gray says you came alone."

  Audrey nodded without speaking, wondering how much of Mary's inquisitiveness came from genuine concern or from suspicion. Under other circumstances, Audrey would have easily responded that her only living relative was her brother, a Navy SEAL, whom she hadn't heard from since shortly after he came home for their mother's funeral eight months ago. But it was no surprise. She normally heard from him only once or twice a year. Gray's warning to trust no one kept her from volunteering even that tidbit about herself.

  "Are you married?" Mary asked, her glance shifting from Audrey to Gray.

  Audrey's gaze fell to her plate as she wondered why Mary had asked. "No. No husband. No children. No—"

  "Unmarried cohabital unit?" Gray interrupted, his voice teasing.

  "No. Not one of those, either." Some of her tension dissolved, and she laughed. Her laughter hid a carefully constructed facade. Her mother's death had left a yawning hole bigger even than her long illness had created. Audrey spent years—eight to be exact—watching her mother fade from the vibrant woman she had once been. She glanced at Gray. "And you?"

  "I don't have one of those, either."

  That didn't exactly tell her whether the man was married or significantly involved. Since she'd be here only a day or two, it didn't really matter. Even so, she was attracted to him, wishing she had the experience and the self-confidence to act on it.

  "Do you live here on the ranch, Mary?" Audrey asked, forcing her attention away from Gray.

  Mary nodded. "For as long as I can remember, my family has lived here."

  "I don't understand." Audrey had the impression the ranch had been abandoned for years before Howard Lambert bought it at a tax auction.

  "My people have lived on this land since the time before the beginning."

  Time before the beginning, Audrey mentally echoed, liking the cadence of the words. She smiled. "You're from one of the pueblos, then. Taos?"

  "Taos is only one of many. Once, there were many more." Mary extended her arm in a graceful gesture that encompassed the entire room. "Before the Spanish came, we were here. And after the Spanish came, we stayed."

  "Where?" Audrey asked.

  "Here."

  "There is a pueblo on the ranch property?" Audrey asked.

  "That's not the way they see it," Gray explained. "The ranch, once part of the Delgado Spanish land grant, is on the land of the pueblo—La Huerta."

  "Ah." Audrey had seen a reference to a Spanish land grant, which had been huge in comparison to the present-day size of the ranch. "La Huerta, what does it mean?"

  "‘Orchard,’ named so by the Spaniards," Mary said.

  "Orchards!" Audrey had known the pueblo people were farmers and traders, but she hadn't imagined orchards. "What kind of fruit?"

  Mary smiled. "Peaches." In the next instant, her smile faded. "Named by Spaniards and destroyed by them, as well. Our heritage, our very way of life stolen. Then, and now."

  "I don't understand."

  "The Spaniards burned the orchards, killed many of our people, put many more into slavery in search of gold and forbade the practice of our religion." Her dark eyes no longer held any warmth when she met Audrey's. "What little that we have left will be gone when Mr. Lambert sells the water."

  Audrey shook her head.

  "We know—" Mary thumped a hand to the middle of her chest "—I know that is why you are here."

  "I see." Audrey glanced at Gray. Don't trust anyone, he had said. It ought to be easy advice since no one seemed to trust her, either.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "I came because Howard asked me to," Audrey said, summoning a smile. "That's all. He doesn't need to come here, or send me, to sell the land or its mineral rights."

  "Then why did he send you?" Mary asked.

  "To audit the books," Audrey answered.

  "No one's ever come before."

  "All the more reason for me to be here, then."

  Mary stared at her a moment. "Where do you live?"

  "In an apartment," Audrey answered evenly, though the change in subject surprised her.

  "A place without any roots, any connection to the land. A place you could leave a
t a moment's whim." Mary snapped her fingers.

  "I've lived there many years." Audrey lifted her chin. In the long months since her mother's death, the apartment had seemed more prison than home. She spent less and less time there, the memories too close, too painful. Lately, she had dreamed of a house in a small town, filled with a husband and a child or two. "Your point is…?"

  "Simply that you would not understand the connection we have to the land. For us, it is not simply real estate on which to build a dwelling. It is the Mother."

  The vehemence in her voice left no doubt as to how Mary felt. It was a view Audrey understood, though obviously any agreement or sympathy she expressed would be met with disbelief.

  "Morning, Mom," came a feminine voice from the doorway.

  Audrey turned to see another woman sweep into the room. Her short black hair was cut into a spiked, chic style, which complemented her fragile bone structure. Dressed in jeans and a velveteen tunic, she looked as though she might have stepped out of one of the boutiques in Santa Fe. Her smile grew even wider when she saw Gray, and the deep lines around her eyes suggested she was twenty years older than she appeared on first glance.

  "Hi, big guy." She dropped a kiss on his cheek on her way to giving Mary a hug. "How's the whittling?"

  "Same old, same old," Gray said. He didn't smile, but for an instant, Audrey thought he would and wondered what they referred to.

  "I'm here for the supply order, Mom," the woman said. In the next instant, she extended her hand to Audrey, her smile warm. "Hi, I'm Francie. You must be Audrey."

  "Yes."

  "Hawk told me that you had arrived last night."

  "You know Hawk?" As soon as the question was out, Audrey wanted to retract it. Of course she knew him, since she'd talked with him.

  Francie laughed. "Yeah. Kinda. He's my husband. You're here for the week?"

  "A few days at least. Depends on how long things take." Audrey couldn't imagine this vibrant woman married to Hawk.

  "I hope you have a chance to look around while you're here," she said. None of Hawk's animosity toward her nor Mary's suspicion of her was evident in Francie's open expression. "Our small pueblo has its own charm, though it's not as big as some."