by Janet Dailey
Stacy's heart beat wildly as she moved beside the tall figure leaning negligently against the white column. He didn't turn to look at her, but continued to gaze out into the night.
'How can a man go about asking a woman who has had all the material things she's ever wanted and whose beauty ensures her all the attention she could ever desire to share her life with him?' Cord's voice had a briskness of controlled emotion that wrenched at Stacy's heart.
With difficulty she suppressed a strangling gasp. 'Oh, dear God,' she thought, 'he's asking me about Lydia.'
'What can I offer her? A life in a country that she must dislike? A monotonous existence?' he went on derisively. 'Just exactly who does the giving and who does the taking in that kind of a situation?'
'I—I would think offering her your love would be enough,' Stacy stammered, pain racking her body in silent sobs, her mind reeling and tormented with doubts.
His dark head twisted sharply to scrutinize her face which she had turned to look out into the night so that the grief that was filling her eyes would be hidden.
'Would that be enough for you?' his low voice asked, but he didn't wait for a reply. 'And just how would you let your man know?'
'It would be enough for me if the right man asked,' Stacy answered, a calmness settling over her heart, knowing his love would be all she would ever ask. She turned to face him, and a serenity radiated from her face as she added, 'And if he loved me, he'd know.'
A dark hand reached out and imprisoned her wrist, pulling her over beside him. Her breath came in rapid gasps as the dark, fiery eyes bore into hers.
'If he was unsure, how would you go about telling him, Stacy?' Cord's voice vibrated near her hair. She felt his left hand slip behind her waist, coming to rest on the bareness of her back, its contact searing through her body. His right hand released her wrist and travelled up to her white throat to caress the side of her neck just below her ear. She knew she had only to lift her head slightly to his face, but she couldn't. Very gently, his thumb slid under her chin, forcing her head up. Stacy's eyes didn't' travel any farther than his mouth that was slowly descending upon her own.
At the first touch of his lips upon hers, she stiffened, not wanting to give in to their gentle demands. But soon, as Cord's ardour continued, she succumbed rapturously—begging, then demanding, the passion coursing her body at the answering hunger in his embrace. Who would have dreamed that Cord would kiss her in this way? Lydia, yes, but Stacy? Lydia! With a start Stacy came to her senses. Cord wasn't kissing her, not with this much passion. He was pretending she was Lydia! Briskly she broke from his arms, standing terrified in front of him, ashamed of what he must surely guess. His face was at first soft as he looked down at her until the panic-stricken expression on her face registered. Immediately Cord's eyes blazed with fire as he turned abruptly away, his immense chest rising and falling at a rapid rate.
'We seem to have got carried away by our conversation,' he said roughly, removing a cigarette from his case and lighting it.' 'Our thoughts were obviously far apart.'
With an audible sigh of relief, Stacy realized he was mistaking her submission and acceptance of his kiss as a pretence that for her, he too was someone else.
'Luckily we both know what we feel towards one another, so there isn't any need to feel embarrassed,' he added, refusing to look at the unmoving girl beside him.
'No, thank goodness,' Stacy replied with a shaky laugh. 'It could have proved very awkward otherwise.'
She moved a step away from him, her body still trembling uncontrollably from his kiss, the initial magic of his lips destroyed by the knowledge that she was only a substitute for Lydia Marshall.
'I imagine it's getting rather late,' Cord said quietly. 'I suppose we ought to be turning in.'
'I am rather tired,' Stacy replied, grasping the straw he offered. 'I'll see you in the morning.'
With as much poise as she could muster, she walked out of the veranda into the living room. Cord followed a few paces behind, but as he entered the living room the phone rang. At the bottom of the stairs, Stacy heard him answer it.
'Harris Ranch’, Cord speaking.—Yes, Lydia, I left the meeting a bit earlier than I'd planned. I intended to call you but—' Stacy didn't wait to hear more. With a cry, Stacy rushed up the stairs. She couldn't bear to hear him talking to Lydia. It was going to be difficult enough to face him tomorrow without increasing her pain tonight.
CHAPTER TEN
THREE days had passed since that fateful evening with Cord. There were faint circles around Stacy's brown eyes and a slight drawnness in the full mouth, indicating the sleepless nights and tension-filled days. Cord had repeatedly ignored her, no longer, checking with her every day as he had done before. In fact, twice when Stacy had been out walking and had seen him in the distance, he had changed directi6n to take himself out of her path. A crushing sense of defeat had closed in on her as she realized that he couldn't even stand to see her.
Abruptly, Stacy, rose from the desk, refusing to let the melancholy within her interfere with her work. The sale was only a week away and there was a great deal still to be done. She was grateful that her time would be so occupied with the auction that she wouldn't be able to dwell on her own problems.
There was a light rap at the door to which Stacy called out for whoever was there to 'come in'. The oak door to the den swung wide to admit the vivacious form of Lydia Marshall.
'I'm not interrupting you, am I? Because if you're very busy, I'll just stay a minute.' An effusive quality in her low voice caused Stacy to cringe inwardly.
'No, not at all,' Stacy replied quietly, taken aback at the unexpected arrival. 'What can I help you with?'
'Nothing really. I just thought you might have time for some coffee and a little chat.'
'Certainly,' Stacy agreed, wondering what in heaven's name they were going to talk about. 'Just a minute and I'll ask Maria to bring some coffee. Would you care for a roll or anything?'
'I hope you don't mind, but I already asked her to bring some on the chance that you would be free,' came the quick reply, followed by a throaty laugh that grated the back of Stacy's neck.
'How thoughtful of you,' Stacy answered with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Seating herself in the chair behind the desk, she continued, 'It's seldom that I have the time to take a coffee break. It will be a pleasant change.'
'I thought as much,' said Lydia, rising from her chair as the plump Mexican woman entered the room carrying the coffee service. 'I'll take that, Maria. I didn't order any sweet rolls. Did you want any, Stacy? I have to watch my figure, so I decline.' At the negative nod of Stacy's head, Lydia dismissed the rotund woman with a curt 'thank you'.
The proprietorial air that Lydia had adopted irked Stacy, and with difficulty she managed to accept the cup of steaming coffee offered her.
‘Oh, before I forget,' Lydia exclaimed, reaching down beside her chair for her purse, 'I was by the printer's, and I remembered Cord mentioning something about needing the proof for the catalogue so I picked it up. I hope you don't mind. He mentioned how hard you were working, and I thought I'd save you a trip into town.'
'Thank you,' Stacy said coolly, accepting the pamphlet. 'Unfortunately I still have to go into town for some other things. I'm sure Mr. Harris will appreciate it, though.'
'Well, I knew how upset he was over it,' the smiling Lydia went on. 'I hope he didn't get too difficult. I know what a temper he sometimes has.'
The familiarity oozed out of Lydia's red lips, no doubt making sure that Stacy fully understood just exactly how friendly Lydia was with Cord. An anger slowly began to burn within her.
'Naturally, he was upset,' Stacy said firmly, 'as I was, but everything's under control now. It was merely a lack of communication.'
'I'm glad to hear it.' An icy glare was in Lydia's black eyes. 'I offered to help with some of the work, but Cord assured me that, at this time, it wouldn't look right. Besides, he thought you were doing an adequate job.'
Stacy's cheeks flamed at the emphasis of the word 'adequate'. The sickening knowledge that she had been casually discussed during one of their conversations lay heavy within her. The solicitous tone of Lydia's words coated the coldness that was enveloping her heart with a bittersweet veneer.
'Mr. Harris indicated that your present—er—circumstances wouldn't allow you to take too active an interest in the actual arrangements of the affair,' Stacy murmured quietly, wondering where she found the voice to speak at all.
Lydia's dark eyes narrowed as she smiled and said, 'Then Cord did explain a little of the problems we face.' With a disconcerted sigh, she went on, 'It's common knowledge how we've always felt for each other, despite my foolishness that got me into this mess. I wonder now how I could have been so naive as to trade in all this for a sun that shines the same on the Riviera as it does here. I assure you, Stacy, it's a crushing blow to discover' that to your husband you're no more than another possession to be dressed and displayed like a masterpiece by Renoir. If I hadn't known that Cord had promised that he'd always be here, I don't know how I would have made it this far. I guess it's knowing that my future is secure once again in Cord's hands. And it's just a matter of time and it all will be made official.'
Stacy didn't know if she could take much more of this conversation. She didn't want to know all their 'wonderful' plans. It was all she could do to contain herself and not jump up and pace the floor in desperation. Why was Lydia discussing this with her at all? Aloud Stacy managed to say something about how wonderful it was that everything was working out for them.
‘Yes, it is,' Lydia replied, but her eyes were studying the flustered Stacy coldly. 'I'm so glad you see it that way. As attractive as Cord is, a lot of girls in your place would have developed a crush on him.'
'Mr. Harris and I rarely discuss anything but business,' Stacy answered numbly, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. 'It would require a great deal of imagination to read more into his attentions towards me than actually exists.'
'You do understand I would dislike seeing you hurt accidentally when it could be so easily avoided. I know Cord feels a certain responsibility for you, and I wouldn't want to see you interpret it wrongly,' Lydia smiled smugly as she rose to place her coffee cup near the silver service. 'Well, I really mustn't keep you any more. I know you have a lot to do, and if I can help you in any way, please call me.'
'Of course,' Stacy replied, the smile on her lips stifling the pain in her chest, knowing that Lydia was the last person she would look to for assistance, and had the distinct impression that Lydia knew it.
Glumly she stared at the catalogue proof in front of her. Mechanically she leafed through the pages, her mind racing back to Lydia's words. 'Cord feels a certain responsibility for you, and I wouldn't want you to interpret it wrongly.' If only she could! If only she could read more into his actions than what they were Responsibility? He had always acted as if she was a liability. It was a miracle he considered her at all.
Arousing herself from her thoughts, Stacy began rummaging through the drawers of the big oak desk looking for the copy of the proof supplied to the printer. She finally found it in one of the lower drawers and began the task of proof-reading the long list of quarter horses complete with their registration numbers, sires, and dams. It was tedious, but at least it required her full concentration and the floating image of the rugged Cord couldn't distract her. Flipping one of the pages over, Stacy straightened with a start. Mixed in among the papers was a piece of stationery with the letterhead of 'Lindsey, Pierce & Mills, Attorneys at Law'. The words fairly leaped off the page at her. Shocked, she glanced at the signature at the bottom of the letter. 'Carter Mills, Sr.'! What was a letter from Mr. Mills doing in Cord's desk? Drawn by the unexpectedness of the familiar letterhead and signature, Stacy began reading.
It was addressed to Mr. Cord Harris, Circle H Ranch, McCloud, Texas, and started out 'Dear Mr. Harris':
Miss Stacy Adams, the daughter of a client, has rented a cabin located on your property. In writing this letter, I am stepping out of my sphere of authority. I would like to impose on you by asking that you keep a close watch over her.
The recent death of her father, a close personal friend, has left Miss Adams without any living relatives. Her father left her a very substantial income so that she is financially secure for the rest of her life. Unfortunately she has been very pampered in the past. Despite my protestations she has insisted on this self-imposed exile to recover from her grief. A stubborn and strong willed young woman, her cosmopolitan raising has not prepared her for the rigours of western Texas, nor the dangers a young woman alone may face.
She has refused to discuss the length of her stay, insisting that it is indefinite. I would appreciate it, if it is at all possible, Mr. Harris, if you could persuade her to return. If she will not, I ask you to accept responsibility for her. I have enclosed a cheque which I hope will cover any inconvenience caused. I remain
Sincerely yours,
Carter Mills, Sr.
'No!' Stacy whispered, staring at the scrawled signature at the bottom of the page. The red-tinged eyes that had shed tears so readily before were as dry as her lips as the horrible truth began to dawn on her. The letter explained so many things. Why Cord had been so hostile the first day they met, advising her that she should return to the refuge of the city life she was accustomed to. Why he had felt so responsible when she had taken that fall off Diablo and insisted that she stay at his ranch to recover. And when she was well, the episode with Diablo had conveniently given him an excuse to keep her here. It was also the reason he was so concerned about one of his hands taking advantage of her. It was all so clear now. He had undertaken the job of guardian when she came and that was all she meant to him.
Lydia's words washed over her again, 'Cord feels responsible for you'. 'Oh, God,' Stacy thought, 'he must have told her, too.' Her humiliation grew clearer and clearer. How he must wish she was gone! Shamed and hurt, Stacy rose from her chair and stumbled around the desk, groping for some release from her misery. No tears fell on the drawn, pinched face as she made her way out the front door. The hurt went too deep to be salved by the shedding of a few tears. Waves of nausea swept over her as she stared numbly at the buildings and surrounding hillsides. A hesitant breeze fingered the tendrils of her chestnut hair as she stood immobile on the concrete walk.
A plump brown hand touched Stacy's arm. 'Are you okay?' came the concerned voice of the housekeeper.
Slowly Stacy turned and managed a weak smile before she replied, 'Yes, I'm fine, Maria. I just needed a breath of fresh air, that's all.'
'You don't look so good,' the Mexican woman shook her head as she followed Stacy into the house. 'Maybe you should take a little siesta?'
'I'll be' all right,' Stacy returned a little impatiently. More quietly she added, 'I'm fine, really. It was just a bit stuffy in there.'
Pride and a sense of fatalism squared Stacy's shoulders as she went back inside, opened the door of the den, and entered. An unnatural calm had settled over her that walled the pain apart from her consciousness. If she could maintain this stoical control of her emotions, she would be able to face the long week that lay ahead of her. At her first opportunity; she would announce to Cord that she would be returning East as soon as the auction was over. That would release him from any false sense of responsibility that he felt and remove her from his life for ever. Bleakly she replaced the lawyer's letter in the lower drawer and began mechanically rechecking the catalogue.
That evening Stacy was on her way down the stairs when she saw Cord talking with Maria in the foyer. The starchy freshness of his blue shirt and the sharp crease of his darker blue trousers indicated his plans to be gone that night. Still possessed by the stupor that had engulfed her earlier, she walked up to him. Poised, she stood waiting until his conversation with Maria was finished.
'Did you want to speak to me?' Cord's voice resounded harshly in her ears.
'Ye
s, if you can spare the time,' Stacy returned just as crisply, ignoring the uncontrollable racing of her heart. His dark eyes rested inquiringly on her pale, drawn face.
'What is it you wanted?'
'I merely wanted to let you know that as soon as this auction affair is over, I'll be returning home,' Stacy answered quietly but firmly.
An eyebrow raised sharply as his brown eyes hardened speculatively. 'This is rather sudden, isn't it?' he said, and without waiting for her reply, added, 'I take it you're not asking my permission.'
'No.'
‘I see,' Cord snapped. The sharp coldness sent an involuntary shiver through the haggard Stacy. 'I didn't expect you'd last this long.'
The morning sun was high over the mountains before Stacy wakened the next day. She had cried herself to sleep the night before, but with sleep had come the endurance to face tomorrow. Mechanically she removed her dress, crumpled from being slept in, showered, dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast. As she gazed out the window of the dining room, the distant hills beckoned her. It was the week-end and there wasn't much Stacy could do for the auction. She decided to spend the day riding the hills. She wasn't up to another confrontation with Cord and this would be by far the easiest way to avoid him. With instructions to Maria to fix her a cold lunch, she hurried upstairs to change into her riding skirt and boots.
A few minutes later she was walking out of the front door, her hat swinging from one hand, her lunch in the other. There was no lightness in her step, but her stride was firm. Reaching the stables, she walked to the paddock where the sorrel was held. Diablo danced forward to meet her and nibbled playfully at her arm as she put on his halter.
She waved a greeting to Hank riding by the stables. Thankfully he was busy and didn't stop to chat. His eyes were far too sharp and she didn't want to be put through another ordeal. The niggling sense of defeat was too painful a reminder without talking about it.
