Southern Nights: Florida (The Americana Series Book 9)

by Janet Dailey

  "You don't have any other family?" Lillian asked with a gently sympathetic look.

  "No." Barbara shook her head, black curls moving with a silken gleam.

  "You have mine," Todd inserted, and smiled ruefully, "Such as it is."

  For the life of her, Barbara couldn't think of a suitable comment to Todd's statement. Luckily, his mother spoke up to prevent what would have been an awkward silence.

  "You are a welcome addition to this family, Barbara. I liked you on sight," she told her and elaborated thoughtfully, "When I first saw you, I had the craziest feeling that I'd known you all my life."

  Shock drained the color from Barbara's face. Those were the same words Jock had said when he walked up to her on the beach. Two seconds later he was kissing her. Her hand jerked in reaction to Lillian's phrase, knocking the water goblet over and spilling the contents on the white linen tablecloth. Ice water dripped on her lap, wakening Barbara to what she had done.

  "Oh, my gosh!" she breathed in sharply, but Lillian had already righted the glass and Todd was mopping up the water with his linen napkin. "I'm sorry."

  "It was only water," Lillian assured her. "Did I say something to upset you?"

  "No. That is…" Barbara slid a furtive look at Jock. Was he pale beneath his tan, or was it her imagination? "Someone else said that same thing to me once and…I'm sorry I spilled the water."

  "It will dry," the older woman insisted.

  "Especially in this heat," Todd volunteered and shifted the topic of conversation to a discussion of the weather.

  Somehow Barbara managed to get through dinner and the coffee in the living room afterward. Not until ten o'clock could she safely excuse herself without raising any eyebrows. It was a relatively chaste good-night kiss she gave Todd in the foyer before climbing the stairs to her room.

  Bruised. She had been willing to accept that description of the condition of her heart during the drive here. After seeing Jock again, Barbara knew it wasn't accurate. He had walked all over her heart, stomped it into the ground. The pain was still there, and very real.

  There had been other times, before she met Jock, when she had imagined herself in love. First there had been an infatuation with her high-school sweetheart, but it had never matured. Shortly after she became a stewardess she had been pursued relentlessly by a handsome married pilot. She had been flattered by his ardent attention, but it was amazing how quickly his interest lagged when she was transferred to ground operations. Her pride was bruised by that, but not her heart, because she had never let herself be serious about him. After that it had been a football player. She nearly fell for him until she found out he was romancing another girl at the same time he was supposedly dating only her.

  Those were disappointments, bruises, but none of them constituted a heartbreak. Deep emotions had to be involved for that. And that is what Jock had aroused. Barbara was scared, because she knew he could do it again. She didn't want to be taken to those heights attained by that love. She wanted to be safe, with both feet on the ground. It was that old irrational fear of falling again.

  Barbara changed quickly into her nightclothes and switched off the light, surrounding herself with darkness. The heavy-posted bed swallowed her up. Barbara wondered if she could sleep.

  She was lying on her stomach, the bed covers partially kicked off, when a hand at the small of her back gently shook her awake. Mumbling an incoherent protest, Barbara resisted the attempt. She was having a wonderful dream and she didn't want it to end yet.

  But the hand was insistent and a familiar, husky voice added to its efforts. "Come on, lazybones. You would sleep until noon if I let you."

  Rolling onto her side, Barbara arched her back in a feline way to keep in contact with the caressing hand. Her lashes lifted sleepily. A tiny smile of contentment touched her lips as her dream came to life at the sight of the man sitting on the side of her bed.

  "Mmm, Jock." She ran a hand up the sleeve of his shirt to his shoulder. "How come you are dressed all ready? I thought we were going snorkeling…or was it skin diving today?"

  Her fingers curled around the column of his neck to pull him down. Her sleep-drugged senses were unaware of the glint in his eyes. It was the strong, mobile mouth that claimed all her interest before it came down in moist possession of her lips. Pleasure erupted within her in a gold shower of bliss-filled sensations. Jock lifted her until her head and shoulders were resting on the plump pillow.

  Both of her arms now circled him to let her hands glide familiarly over his strong, well-muscled back. A wild fire seared through her veins with a glorious heat. It spread through her nerve ends, making them come alive to his nearness. When he dragged his mouth from hers and lifted his head, her hands came to the front of his chest.

  Her eyes were slow to open as she sighed his name with longing. "Jock—"

  "That was six months ago, honey," his voice mocked her. "This morning you are scheduled to tour the citrus groves with your fiancé, Todd. Remember him?"

  The beautiful dream popped like the fragile bubble it had been. Hands that had been thrilling to the solid rhythm of his heartbeat now stiffened to keep him at bay. A stifled gasp of dismay became choked in her throat as Barbara saw the way she had humiliated herself.

  "What are you doing here?" she cried brokenly. "Where' s Todd?"

  "Waiting for you at the sorting and grading sheds." With amusement Jock watched the abrupt change in her attitude, from blazing passion to fiery indignation in one lightning move. "I knew you would take advantage of the chance to sleep late, so I promised to take you to him before noon."

  "Get out of this bedroom!" she cried in hoarse anger, and tried to appeal to his discretion. "What if your mother walks in here?"

  "There's no worry. She isn't here." The slashing lines on either side of his mouth deepened in an arrogant smile. His gaze lowered to make a leisurely survey of the upper half of her body. "I didn't realize long-legged pajamas could be so provocative."

  The top half of her pajamas consisted of pink lace, suspended by spaghetti straps and secured by silk ribbons tied in two bows between her breasts. The long bottoms were pink silk with a wide band of see-through pink lace down the outside seam. But Jock's interest was directed at the pink ribbons tied in small bows. A trailing end of one ribbon was trapped between his fingertips, his knuckles brushing the flimsy lace covering a swelling breast.

  "You always did enjoy making love in the mornings, didn't you?" he mused and untied the bow with hardly any effort.

  "Don't." The one-word protest was all her breathless lungs would permit.

  "That isn't what you said a minute ago." The second bow was undone with matching ease.

  "Stop it, Jock." Her resistance was weakening despite the empty warning.

  "Or what will you do, my dark-haired beauty?" With her breasts no longer confined by the lacy fragment of her top, his hand slipped beneath the material to mold his rough palm to the firm roundness of the underside of her breast, a thumb rubbing the sensitized peak. His lowering weight forced her elbows to bend as his warm breath teased her lips. "Will you whisper for help?" There was silent laughter in his murmured taunt.

  Barbara turned her face into the pillow, fighting the melting weakness that wanted her to relax under his caress. The absence of her lips to possess didn't bother him. He nuzzled the sensitive hollow below her ear and nibbled at the delicate cord in her neck. Excited tingles danced over her skin in direct response. Barbara felt desire stirring and knew she had to stop him before she was overwhelmed by this inner upheaval.

  She used his own words to do it. "I am engaged to your brother. Remember him?" It was a choked taunt, but its sting was just as sharp.

  His caressing hands became punishing, abandoning her delectable curves to accidentally tangle his fingers in the lace material as they dug painfully into the soft flesh of her arms. She was half lifted off the pillow by the strength of his brutal grip. The savage gleam in his eyes warned Barbara that she had roused a
sleeping tiger.

  "You were mine before you ever became his!" With an abrupt release of his hold, Jock let her fall onto the pillow. His gaze raked her breasts with insolent possession while Barbara frantically sought to cover herself with the thin lace top, but he was already pushing himself from the bed to stalk to the door.

  Stung by the callous way he had discarded her again, her pride demanded retaliation. "Get out of my room and stay out of it!" Barbara ordered in hoarse fury.

  "No!" Jock whirled, his temper erupting like a golden storm. "This is my room! You are my guest! I own this house and all the land around it!" he thundered.

  "Lillian—" Barbara attempted a defensive argument.

  "My mother is here because I permit it! Let's get this clear." The volume of his voice was reduced to an ominous growl. "You are in my house and in my room. I say who stays or goes. No one else! So don't ever give me orders as to what I will do in my own home." A muscle worked convulsively in his jaw as he gathered his anger in check. "Be downstairs in fifteen minutes. We'll be riding to the sheds, so dress accordingly."

  On that clipped order, Jock pivoted to stride to the door. Her anger had been reduced to a tight ball of impotency. In desperation, Barbara grabbed the spare pillow and threw it at the closing door. It bounced harmlessly off the hardwood onto the floor. Her eyes burned with tears.

  "I won't cry," she insisted fiercely. "I won't shed one more tear for you, Jock Malloy."

  It took a lot of cold water from the bathroom faucet to cool the scorching liquid stinging her eyes. As much as Barbara would have liked to ignore it, there had been an implied threat in his command to be downstairs in fifteen minutes. If she wasn't, Jock was just as apt to come up and bring her down himself. That, and the knowledge that he was taking her to meet Todd, who was at present her only line of defense, made Barbara dress quickly in blue jeans, a T-shirt and boots. She was out of breath from hurrying by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Pausing, she realized Jock hadn't said where he would be. She took a chance and tried the veranda. He was standing in the shadows, a shoulder leaned against an arch, a hand running tiredly over his jaw and throat. That impression of tiredness vanished in total alertness when he saw her. Barbara walked toward him, tilting her chin in vague challenge.

  "I'm ready," she asserted.

  "There's orange juice, coffee and some sweet bread on the table." He was curt with her as he motioned to the glass-topped table of wrought iron behind him.

  "No breakfast?" She said it just to be difficult. Her normal appetite was stolen

  "You slept late," Jock reminded her. "You have a choice of having breakfast and spoiling the lunch Ramon's wife will be fixing for you and Todd, or—"

  "Who is Ramon?" Barbara interrupted as she walked to the table to pour fresh-squeezed orange juice from the pitcher into a glass.

  "One of my foremen. He's in charge of the fruit shipments. His house was practically a second home to Todd and me when we were younger." He was making an effort to sound civil.

  It only irritated Barbara. "This Ramon works for you? He isn't family?"

  "Everyone 'works' for me. Before that, they worked for my father. Before that, his father," he snapped. "That makes everyone on Sandoval land family–by loyalty if not by blood."

  "You have a little feudal empire here, don't you?" she goaded. "With you the lord and master."

  After throwing her a glowering look, Jock turned away. Barbara sensed if he hadn't, he might have been tempted to use physical violence. She shivered in reaction.

  "That was uncalled for," she admitted. "I'm sorry, Jock. I don't know why I said it. I…suppose I wanted to make you angry…to pay you back."

  "Forget it." He coldly dismissed her apology, stinging her pride once again. She stared at her glass of juice, wanting to throw it in his face. "What's it to be? Breakfast or lunch?"

  "Lunch." She forced herself to swallow the orange juice, then set the empty glass on the table. Her blue glance still held a shimmer of resentment at the way he had slapped away her apology. "I'm ready."

  "No coffee or roll?" An eyebrow arched sharply to match the metallic edge of his look.

  "No." She'd choke on it. "You said we would be riding."

  "Mike is bringing the horses now." His announcement sent her glance to the treed lawn beyond the pool. A man was approaching the house leading two saddled horses, a blaze-faced chestnut and a gray. "Do you have a hat? The noonday sun can be fierce."

  "No, I don't," While she was looking at the horses Jock had moved with that animal quietness she had forgotten he possessed. He had already put on his hat and was pulling it low on his forehead.

  "I didn't think you would. Here's one of my mother's." The hat in his hand was cream-colored with a flat crown and brim. "See if it fits." He handed it to her and waited.

  Under his watchful eyes, Barbara set it on her head. It fit snugly over her black curls and forced them to frame her face in their soft feathers. She pushed away the ones that tickled her temple and forehead, tucking them under the hatband. Finished, she turned for his inspection.

  "How is that?" Her head was thrown back in challenge.

  His gaze didn't stop with the hat. It continued downward to assessingly roam over the jutting curve of her breasts against the thin knit fabric of her T-shirt. Barbara sucked in her breath in disturbed reaction to the stripping touch of his eyes on her stomach and waist, over her hips and down narrow-legged jeans.

  "I brought the horses, Jock," a man called, snapping the invisible thread that had bound Jock's gaze to her.

  Without a word to her, Jock turned and walked to the end of the veranda where the grass grew to the edge of the tile. The big, muscled gray horse whickered at the sight of him, pricking its ears in his direction. Barbara was slow to follow Jock, not recovering as quickly as he had. The man holding the reins of the two horses was about her age and height, with a fresh, open face and candid blue eyes that didn't attempt to hide the admiration in his look when he saw her up close. Although Barbara couldn't see Jock's face, he had obviously noticed the man's interested look.

  "This is Mike Turbot. Barbara Haynes." Jock threw out the introductions with hard indifference. "Give her Sebring," he commanded and took the reins of the gray. "While she's here the chestnut will be at her disposal, but I don't want her riding alone."

  "Yes, sir." The puzzled look the wrangler flashed Jock indicated he wasn't used to such curtness coming from him. "Here you are, Miss Haynes." Mike Turbot passed Barbara the reins and held the chestnut's bridle while cupping a hand under her elbow to help her into the saddle, Jock was already aboard the big gray, stepping into the stirrup and swinging into the saddle all in one fluid motion.

  "Thank you, Mike." Because of Jock's rudeness, her smile was a little warmer than it might have been, as a feeling of compassion surfaced.

  "Anytime, miss." He smiled and touched the curved point of his hat brim.

  Jock had already reined the gray gelding away from the veranda to walk it across the thick carpet of lawn. Barbara's chestnut mount was more lightly built. It whirled gracefully at a touch of the rein on its sleek neck and glided after the horse and rider in a smooth, effortless walk. Spirited but well-trained, the horse was a joy to ride, but the tight-lipped profile of the man riding beside her kept Barbara from expressing her enthusiasm.

  The pace was kept to a walk as they crossed the lawn rather than have the metal shoes of the horses dig out clumps of lush grass. Twice Barbara had to dodge a draping curtain of Spanish moss that bearded the massive oak trees shading the lawn. A white paddock gate stood open and the gray horse went through it at a trot. With a touch of the heel, Barbara's chestnut picked up the pace, too.

  When Todd had mentioned riding to her, she had looked forward to the opportunity with pleasure, but Jock's grim silence was turning it into an ordeal. She was too conscious of his rough-hewn features set in such unyielding lines to enjoy the feel of the horse beneath her. It was like being
given a banana split on a full stomach and being ordered to eat it all.

  A barbed-wire fence blocked their way. Without dismounting, Jock maneuvered the gray horse close to a gate Barbara hadn't noticed and unhooked it, fastening it again after they had both gone through the opening.

  As they started out again, Barbara couldn't stand the silence any longer. "I didn't know you were Todd's brother. Believe me, if I had, I would never have come here." Her voice trembled with the vibrant force of her conflicting emotions. "You gave me the impression you owned a ranch and I—"

  "I do," Jock interrupted smoothly, not bothering to look at her.

  "Your definition of a ranch and mine don't coincide. I wasn't thinking of orange groves and racehorses." There was a faintly sarcastic bite to her response. "A ranch to me means cattle—"

  "That isn't a water buffalo." With a nod of his head, he directed her attention to his right.

  A big Brahman bull stood in the shade of a tree, his massive humpbacked shape concealed until that moment by the mottled brown of his coat and the shadows of the thick limbs overhead. The bull twitched a drooping ear at a buzzing insect, his curved horns turning as his small dark eyes watched them ride by.

  "Okay, so you run a few cattle." Barbara shrugged her shoulders in a vague dismissal.

  "Over fifty thousand head, counting stock cattle and feeder steers," Jock informed her with a cool glance. "More than likely there are a couple thousand head running wild in the swamp that should be carrying the Sandoval brand."

  Her mouth dropped open mentally, if not physically. With new awareness, her eyes encompassed the wild pasture they were riding through. It seemed to go on forever.

  "How big is this place?" she murmured.

  "It covers around two hundred and twenty thousand acres, a thousand of it in citrus trees and five hundred for the thoroughbreds. The rest is all cattle. I have about seventy-five people working for me. This operation is small compared to the Deseret Ranch or the Lykes Brothers. Surprised?" he mocked.

  Barbara couldn't deny it. "I didn't know there were ranches this large in Florida."