A Mating of Hawks

by Jeanne Williams

  She did, but a flash of Shea’s mocking face cooled the magnetism surging between her and the man across the table. Easy, she warned herself. Don’t start something you aren’t ready to finish.

  An involvement with either of her cousins was the last thing she needed, at least till she knew them better, felt herself able to handle what might follow. Not that Shea showed any sign of liking her! Still, she couldn’t have mistaken that elemental attraction that had coursed between them.

  “Thanks,” she told Judd. “But I’m going up to Patrick for a while.”

  He shrugged, rose to pull out Vashti’s chair before he did the same for Tracy’s. His hands touched the back of her arms and as she rose he whispered in her ear, “Thank you, cousin, for wanting to come.” Aloud, he said, “When I get back from Phoenix, I’ll take you around the ranch. But you’ll have to wait a couple of weeks for your big story.”

  “Judd,” cut in Vashti, in the flattering light seeming at least as young as his thirty-eight years. “Will you come to my study a moment? I’ve some matters you might attend to up in Phoenix.”

  He looked slightly annoyed but nodded carelessly and stepped back to let the women precede him through the door. Then he followed Vashti down the sconce-lit hall while Tracy caught up her skirt and ran upstairs.

  The moon spilled through the window, making a light unnecessary. Patrick lay so still that Tracy thought him asleep till half his mouth curved in that devastating way and he spoke her name.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked, placing her hand over his.

  “No, honey. And I don’t want to talk. But I’d sure like for you to just stay with me, quiet for a while.”

  Her eyes stung. How it must torment his imperious spirit to have this failure of body added to that of his sight! His sons’ quarrel must weigh on him almost as much as not being able to judge for himself what was best for the ranch and take an active part, for Patrick had always worked right beside his men, been an expert rider and roper.

  In the moonlight, she noticed lying beside his pillow the rawhide reata that he’d clung to long after nylon ropes replaced hand-plaited ones. It smelled of horses and sweat.

  Sitting down by this man who’d lulled her childhood fears and griefs against his broad chest as tenderly as any woman could have, Tracy held his hand. At last, quietly, she let her tears fall.

  Judd looked both ways before, without rapping, he entered Vashti’s room. A triple mirror reflected her in a blur of multiple images, lace-covered breasts and luminous hair, as she whirled toward him. She screwed the lid on an alabaster jar with fingers that shook. He was amused at her discomfiture, caught with her face off, the way she tried to cover it with a provocative pout.

  “Darling, you could knock!”

  He shrugged. “You wanted to see me. I’m not going to stand around in the hall and let Concha see me come in. She’d love to take that to Patrick.”

  “That old witch!” Vashti shuddered, rising. “Always padding around, watching me with those damned flat black eyes! I’ve tried to get rid of her but Patrick won’t hear of it.”

  “If she sees us, I’ll get rid of her. Permanently.”

  “Judd, you sound so dangerous,” Vashti teased. Her eyes deepened. Her expensive perfume floated up from between her breasts as soft arms closed around him. She filled him with the surfeited distaste he felt after a long night with her, though she knew all the tricks and, under his disgust, the familiar hot urgency was starting to build. Caressing his face and throat, she laughed softly. “You’re as macho as any Mexican.”

  “It wouldn’t be funny if Patrick threw you out and disowned me.”

  “He wouldn’t, even if he guessed,” she said complacently.

  Judd drew away, stared at her through narrowed eyes. She seemed suddenly old. Well-preserved, but used-up beside Tracy’s freshness. He’d been a fool to get mixed up with her but she’d been convenient, lushly inviting, and he’d thought her experienced enough to handle it as mutual gratification. He hadn’t expected her growing possessiveness, the way she was trying to turn it into some kind of grand passion. Even less had he expected to feel compunction, a kind of shame, when she flirted with him in front of his blind father. Contemptuously, he swung away from her, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

  “Blind and paralyzed, Patrick’s still a hell of a lot more man than you deserve. If he knew, he’d take care of us.”

  “Judd! You’re in a vile mood.”

  “What do you want?”

  She was silent. “I’ve got things to do,” he said, turning. “If it’s skipped your mind, we’ll talk later.”

  She stepped in front of him, jaw hardening. “I’d like to know why you’re taking such an interest in little cousin Tracy.”

  “I’m not married,” he said brutally. “I can show an interest where I damn well please.”

  She choked. Her eyes glowed like brimstone. “If you think you can just use me and—and—”

  “Yes?” he mocked, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms.

  When she swallowed and clenched her hands, strangling back whatever stupidities she wanted to hurl at him, he said in a bored tone, “I didn’t seduce you, Vashti. I don’t owe you a thing. If you want to finish us fast, just throw fits or threaten me.”

  She flinched as if he’d hit her, then smiled with obvious effort, putting her hand placatingly on his.

  “Let’s not quarrel, darling. I was only going to show Tracy around the place myself if you were offering out of hospitality or cousinly duty.”

  “Considering how you hate the place, I’d never ask you to make that sacrifice,” he said sardonically. “Thanks, but I expect that little tour to be fun.”

  At Vashti’s stricken look, his instinct not to unnecessarily make an enemy led him to say more gently, “Tracy’s got influence with Patrick. It’s worth some trouble to get her on my side.”

  The thought of Tracy touched off a wave of desire that transferred obligingly to Vashti’s warm, full body. Grasping her robe, he started to husk it off.

  Her eyes lifted; she understood.

  Stepping back with a slight laugh, she said, “Sorry, dear. I’ve got a beastly headache. Maybe later.”

  “If you’re smart, you’ll take it when you can get it.”

  That beautiful mask-like face congealed.

  “Enjoy your headache,” he said with a savage grin and let himself out. It was like escaping from the scented lair of a treacherous, fawning animal. But there was nothing she could do to him. He had what she wanted, not the other way around.

  IV

  It was late before Tracy knew by his heavy breathing that he finally slept. Gently freeing her numbed hand from his, she went silently downstairs. A few electric sconces dimly lit the halls. She turned down the one leading to her room.

  A cry rose in her throat as a figure loomed before her. Fingers clamped over her mouth. A steel-muscled arm dragged her against a hard, powerful body.

  “Tracy!” came a startled whisper. “What the hell, honey? It’s just me!”

  As she quieted, Judd cautiously took his hand off her mouth. He kept his other arm around her, though it was loose now, no longer a pinion.

  “I—I—” Swept back to the panic of that night six months ago, she couldn’t talk.

  Judd turned her about and marched her to the kitchen, a big room with all the modernities amidst dark-blue and sun-yellow Mexican tile, sculptured adobe niches and much bright copper. Installing her in Concha’s rocking chair, he got a glass of milk, laced it amply with Tia Maria, and gave it to her.

  “I’m sorry I scared you.” He spread his big square hands appealingly. “Just thought I could show you the moon.”

  Restored by reality and the warming liqueur, Tracy managed a laugh. “All is forgiven. But please don’t lurk around in the dark.”

  He frowned, pulling over a low bench so that he could look directly into her eyes. “You were more than startled, you were terrified! Why
, Tracy?”

  She shook her head. The pulse throbbed sledgingly in her throat so that she seemed to feel again those strangling, brutal fingers. “I—I’d rather not talk about it.”

  She would have risen but he imprisoned her, setting a hand on either arm of the rocker. “Something’s happened. I don’t remember much about you, but you were no scaredy-cat.”

  “Please!”

  The pupils of his eyes had dilated, leaving only a thin circle of gold around their blackness. “You were raped!”

  She shook her head, beginning to tremble.

  “Then what?”

  Maybe it would help to tell. Stumblingly, eyes fixed on her tightly clasped hands, she explained. Judd was breathing heavily by the time she finished. Springing up, he gripped his hands behind him, paced the length of the room.

  “So that pervert’s being coddled by the shrinks till he can be turned loose!”

  “I told you, he went berserk in Viet Nam—”

  “That’s an excuse?” Judd turned on his heel. “You wait right here.”

  He was back in a few minutes. “Keep this.” He handed her a small gun.

  She stared at the blue-black barrel, the carved ivory handle. “I don’t shoot.”

  “Then I’ll damned well teach you.”

  “But, Judd, I’m not in Houston!”

  “You’re safe enough in this house,” he agreed. “But if you’re out driving or walking alone, you could run into some dangerous types on the ranch. Hippies running drugs, Commies running guns, illegals—”

  “Oh, come on, Judd! Illegal aliens just want work. I never heard of their hurting anyone.”

  “They sure have taken to robbery. Just ask anyone who lives along the border. Over around Douglas, where two ranchers were tried for defending their home, folks are ready to shoot to kill.”

  “Weren’t those ranchers on trial for torturing an illegal?”

  Judd grunted. “They just wanted to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. Hell, they could have just killed him and dumped the body down an old mine shaft. He’d never even have been missed.”

  Except by some woman, some old parents or children down in Mexico? Tracy shook her head, tried to give back the gun. “I don’t know how to use it.”

  He let out an explosive breath. “After what happened to you? You’d by God better learn!”

  When she still held out the weapon, he took a deep breath, spoke more gently. “Tracy, the night that animal jumped you, if you’d had a gun, wouldn’t you have used it? Been mighty glad to?”

  She shivered involuntarily. “Yes.”

  “Well, then?” he prodded.

  She couldn’t answer. Of course she’d have used any defense she could have that terrible night. But she didn’t think the answer to violence was for everyone to start packing guns.

  Judd said urgently, real concern in his voice. “Tracy, just keep the gun a while. Get used to it. Then let me teach you to shoot. I can’t stand to think of you not being prepared if you needed to be and though I hate to say it, not even the ranch is safe anymore.”

  She appreciated his caring. And it couldn’t hurt to learn to shoot, though she wasn’t going to carry a gun. Glancing down at the small weapon, she gave Judd a teasing smile. “You were lucky I wasn’t armed and dangerous when you waylaid me in the hall, Judd.”

  He shrugged. “You’d never have had a chance to shoot.”

  “Then why learn?”

  He chuckled. “Because, sweet baby, not many guys know all the tricks I do.” He tilted up her chin, fingers warm against the leaping pulse in her throat. “My God, have you ever grown up beautiful!”

  “Is this a private party or may I have a drink?” As Vashti glided through the doorway, Judd stepped back.

  “I thought you had a headache.”

  “I did. I do.” She smiled appealingly. Her body curved voluptuously beneath a clinging dark-green panné velvet robe. “Be a love, Judd, and make me a Scotch and soda.”

  Disgruntled, he moved over to the refrigerator. Vashti peered at the gun Tracy now felt sheepish about holding. “Darling! What on earth have you got that dreadful thing for?”

  “She’s going to learn to use it,” Judd interposed.

  Vashti’s eyebrows climbed. “Are you, Tracy? You don’t seem the type. But blood will out, and from those sagas Patrick’s so fond of repeating, your ancestresses thought nothing of shooting men.”

  “They killed scalp-hunters who were murdering Apache women and children,” Tracy retorted. “In their place, I hope I could have done the same.”

  Vashti’s jade eyes gleamed with mirth and perhaps a touch of malice. “But, dear; we don’t have any scalp-hunters these days.”

  Handing his stepmother her drink, Judd snorted. “We’ve got more scum than ever, Vashti, and you ought to know it if you listen to the news.”

  She lifted an elegant shoulder and patted his hand. “You men! Creating terrors and alarms if there aren’t any! If you think it’s so bad that we should all go around with sub-machine guns and bandoliers, why not sell to the Vistas Unlimited developers and move to town?”

  “My dead body may move to town, but I won’t.”

  Vashti’s laughter tinkled. “Judd, angel! You sound like John Wayne!”

  He watched her moodily. “The cities are rotting. They’re going to explode the way a putrid carcass blows up from trapped gases. That’s when the maggots will scurry around for safety.” Insolently, he looked his stepmother up and down. “On that day, Vashti, pray you can still hide here.”

  She made a face and yawned. “My father was a fundamentalist minister who loved to preach blood to the chariot wheels, the moon in sackcloth and the end of the world. Your notions are just as depressing, Judd dear, though they lack Biblical grandeur.”

  Uncomfortable at their skirmishing and something else she sensed between them, Tracy put her glass in the sink and quickly said her good-nights.

  Back in her room, she stared at the gun a minute, felt a wave of revulsion. What kind of life was it if you had to go in fear and suspicion, be prepared to kill? Tomorrow, she’d give Judd back his gun. Placing it on top of the armoire, she quickly got ready for bed.

  As she settled gratefully between the cool sheets, a vagrant memory of Shea crossed her mind. Now that she thought of it, his pickup had been missing the almost universal gun rack. Maybe he hid his firearms. Or maybe he didn’t agree with Judd.

  Whatever his views on guns, he was one standoffish character! Far from offering to take her around, as Judd had hospitably done, Shea had as good as told her he didn’t want her at El Charco.

  Why? And why should it sting? She stretched, feeling her stomach muscles tighten sensuously, and smiled a bit vindictively in the knowledge that though, for reasons unknown, Shea seemed to be a woman-hater, he had most certainly responded to her physically—and she hoped he was thinking about her now and repenting his surliness!

  What eyes he had! Like a summer thunderstorm charged with lightning. She sighed as her thoughts moved to Patrick. Let him be sleeping, forgetful of his troubles! At least, she could lighten his dreary confinement a little bit. And it was good to be home, back in her childhood bed. Hugging a pillow to her, Tracy drifted into sleep.

  When she went up to Patrick next morning, a cranky Vashti was preparing to bathe and shave him. “He should have a nurse,” she complained to Tracy as if the blind man couldn’t hear. “But he’s run off everyone we’ve coaxed into coming out here.”

  “A bunch of ninnies,” Patrick grouched. “That last old hatchet-face should’ve been thrilled to get a slap on the fanny!”

  “Strangely enough, she wasn’t,” Vashti snapped. “Really, Patrick, it’s not fair that all this falls on me because you shock and intimidate the people I hire!”

  Patrick chortled. “And what kind of nurses are they if a blind cripple can fluster ’em? Dammit, woman, I’ve told you to get one of the vaqueros up here. Any man of them would be glad to do it.”

/>   Vashti’s lips compressed. “It’s bad enough for Chuey Sanchez to track in manure once or twice a week. Why he can’t just report to Judd—”

  “Chuey knows I’m still the boss.” The spunk faded from Patrick’s voice and he sounded very tired. “You don’t have to shave me, Vashti. Judd will, or hell, I’ll grow whiskers!”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a lady barber,” Tracy said, laughing as she took the razor from the older woman. “You’d look ravishing with sideburns, Patrick! Why don’t we start some?”

  “Why not?” he chuckled, relaxing.

  Vashti, crisp in beige linen, paused in the door. “Don’t spoil him too outrageously,” she warned. “I have a new nurse coming and if she doesn’t stay, I’m going to be extremely vexed!”

  Patrick made a rude sound and grinned up at Tracy. “Thanks, honey. Try not to cut my throat.”

  “Keep still, then,” she begged nervously.

  The shave didn’t take long. She bathed Patrick’s face and torso but he refused to let her do more. “I wouldn’t mind a she-nurse if she was pretty and fun,” he grumbled. “But the ones Vashti hires are skinny as snakes or broad as hippos and talk like they broke a thermometer in their mouth!”

  “Now, Patrick, how do you know they’re not gorgeous?”

  “I can hear even if I can’t see,” he rumbled, then grinned wickedly. “I can feel, too. And believe me, honey, those old girls were tough as rawhide or soggy as a wet sponge!”

  “Patrick!”

  He gave his good shoulder a truculent hitch. “I’m only half dead, Tracy, not all the way. Now listen, you get over to the Sanchezes’ today and see them and the vaqueros.”

  “Is my singing that bad?”

  “You can sing when you get back.” He winked his live eye. “Get along with you now! I’ve got to save up my strength for that new nurse who’s supposed to show up today.”

  Tracy gave her head a despairing shake and kissed him good-bye. She could imagine that he might be a real terror to a nurse, but surely it was better for him to be feisty and a bit lecherous rather than lie there as if completely paralyzed.