by Diana Palmer
“Love can grow out of it, though. Harden knows how to love. He’s just forgotten.” Theodora smiled. “Perhaps you can reeducate him.”
Miranda smiled back. “Perhaps. You’re sure you don’t mind if I stay with you? I was serious about the motel.”
“I’m very sure, Miranda.” Theodora watched the young face relax, and she was glad she hadn’t made the situation worse than it was.
Evan and Harden were on their way back to the house before Evan said anything about Miranda’s arrival.
“I can’t believe you brought her home,” he murmured, grinning at his younger brother. “People will faint all over Jacobsville if you get married.”
Harden shrugged. “She’s young and pretty, and we get along. It’s time I married someone.” His eyes ran slowly around the property. “Even if there are four of us, we’ll need sons to help us keep the place. I’d hate to see it cut up into subdivisions one day.”
“So would I.” Evan shoved his big hands into his pockets. “Mother thought you were bringing that streetwalker you threatened her with once. Not that I expect you’d know a streetwalker if you saw one,” he murmured dryly, “considering your years of celibacy.”
Harden let the insinuation go, as he always did, but he frowned. “You didn’t tell Theodora who Miranda was?”
“I started to, but there wasn’t time.” His expression sobered. “You should have called first. No matter what vendettas you’re conducting against Mother, you owe her a little common courtesy. Presenting her with a houseguest and no advance notice is unforgivable.”
Harden, surprisingly, agreed. “Yes, I know.” He broke off a twig from the low-hanging limb of one of the pecan trees as they passed through the small orchard and toyed with it. “Has Theodora ever talked about my real father?” he asked suddenly.
Chapter 8
Evan’s eyebrows shot up and he stopped walking. Harden had never once asked anything about his real father. He hadn’t even wanted to know the man’s name.
“What brought on that question?” he asked.
Harden frowned. “I don’t know. I’m just curious. I’d like to know something about him, that’s all.”
“You’ll have to ask Mother, then,” Evan told him. “Because she’s the only one who can tell you what you want to know.”
He grimaced. “Wouldn’t she love that?” he asked darkly.
Evan turned. “She’ll die one day,” he said shortly. “You’re going to have to live with the way you treat her.”
Harden looked dangerous for a minute, but his eyes calmed. He stared out over the land. “Yes, I know,” he confessed. “But she’s got some things to deal with herself.”
“I have a simpler philosophy than you,” Evan said quietly. “I believe that the day we die is preordained. That being the case, I can accept tragedy a little better than you can. If you think Theodora played God that night, think again. You of all people should know that nobody can interfere if God wants someone to live.”
Harden’s heart jumped. He scowled, but he didn’t speak.
“Hadn’t considered that, had you?” Evan asked. “You’ve been so eaten up with hatred and vengeance that you haven’t even thought about God’s hand in life. You’re the churchgoer, not me. Why don’t you try living what you preach? Let’s see a little forgiveness, or isn’t that what your religion is supposed to be all about?”
He walked ahead of Harden to the house, leaving the other man quiet and thoughtful.
Supper that evening was boisterous. Donald and Jo Ann were live wires, vying with Evan for wisecracks, and they made up for Harden’s brooding and Theodora’s discomfort.
Donald was shorter and more wiry than his brothers, although he had dark hair and eyes like Evan. Jo Ann was redheaded and blue-eyed, a little doll with a ready smile and a big heart. They took to Miranda at once, and she began to feel more at home by the minute, despite Harden’s lack of enthusiasm for the gathering.
After the meal, Harden excused himself and went outside. He didn’t ask Miranda to join him, but she did.
He glanced back at her, startled. “I thought you were having the time of your life with the family.”
She smiled at his belligerence. It was uncanny, how well she understood him. He was the outsider; he didn’t fit in. He was on his guard and frankly jealous of the attention she was getting from the family he pretended he wasn’t a part of. She couldn’t let on that she knew that, of course.
She moved to join him on the porch swing, where he was lazily smoking a cigarette.
“I like your family very much,” she agreed. “But I came here because of you.”
He was touched. He hadn’t been wrong about her after all. She seemed to know things about him, emotionally, that he couldn’t manage to share with her in words.
Hesitantly he slid his free arm around her and drew her close, loving the way she clung, her hand resting warmly over his chest while the swing creaked rhythmically on its chains.
“It’s so peaceful here,” she said with a sigh.
“Too peaceful for you, city girl?” he teased gently.
She started to tell him about her background, but she decided to keep her secret for a little longer. He had to want her for herself, not just because she could fit in on a ranch. She didn’t want to prejudice his decision about marrying her until she was sure of his feelings.
“I travel a good deal. And I’ll keep the apartment in Houston. You won’t get too bored,” he promised her. He stared at her dark head with new possession. “Lift your face, Miranda,” he said, his voice soft and deep in the quiet. “I’m going to kiss you.”
She obeyed him without conscious thought, waiting for his mouth. It was smoky from the cigarette, and still warm from the coffee he’d had with supper. But most of all, it was slow, and a little rough, and very thorough.
A soft moan broke the silence. She lifted her arms, startled by the onrush of passion that made her desperate for more of him than this.
If she felt it, so did he. The cigarette went over the banister as he lifted her across him, and the kiss went from a slow exploration to a statement of intent in seconds.
She heard him curse under his breath as he fought the buttons of her shirtwaist dress, and then his hand was on her, possessive in its caressing warmth.
“Miranda,” he whispered into her mouth. His hand was faintly tremulous where it traced the swollen contours of her breast.
He lifted his head and drew the dress away from her body, but the porch was too dark to suit him. He stood up with Miranda in his arms and moved toward the settee against the wall, where the light from the living room filtered through the curtains onto the porch.
“Where are we going?” Miranda asked, dazed by the force of her own desire.
“Into the light,” he said huskily, “I have to see you.” He sat down with Miranda in his arms, turning her so that he could see her breasts. “I have to look at you… Yes!”
“Harden?” She barely recognized her own high-pitched voice, so shaken was she by the look on his face.
“You’re beautiful, little one,” he whispered, meeting her eyes. His hand moved and she shivered. His head bent to her mouth, brushing it tenderly. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“The same thing you do to me, I hope,” she whispered. Her body arched helplessly. “Harden,” she moaned. “Someone could come out here. Oh, can’t we go somewhere…?”
He caught his breath and looked around almost desperately. “Yes.” He got up and buttoned her deftly back into her dress, only to catch her hand and lead her along with him. His mind was barely working at all. Nowhere in the house was safe, with that crowd. Neither was the barn, because two calving heifers were in there, being closely watched as they prepared to drop purebred calves.
His eyes found his car, and he sighed with resignation as he drew Miranda toward it. He put her inside and climbed in with her, turning her into his arms the instant the door was closed.
“Now,” he brea
thed against her waiting mouth.
He unbuttoned the dress again and found her with his hands, and then with his mouth. Her arms clung to him, loving the newness of being with him like this, of enjoying physical intimacy. She slid her hands inside his shirt and found the hard, hair-roughened warmth of his chest, liking the way he responded to her searching touch.
“Here,” he said curtly, unfastening the shirt all the way down. He gathered her to him inside it, pressing her soft breasts into the hard muscles of his chest. He lifted his head and looked down at where they touched, at the contrasts, in the light that glared out of the barn window.
He moved her away just a little, so that he could see the hard tips of her breasts barely touching him, their deep mauve dusky against his tanned skin. His forefinger touched her there, and his blue eyes lifted to her silvery ones when she gasped.
“Why do you…watch me like that?” she whispered.
“I enjoy the way you look when I touch you,” he said softly. “Your eyes glow, like silver in sunlight.” His gaze went to her swollen mouth, down her creamy throat to her breasts. “Your body…colors, like your cheeks, when I touch you intimately. Each time is like the first time you’ve known a man’s lovemaking. That’s why.”
“It’s the first time I ever felt like this,” she replied. “It always embarrassed me with Tim. I felt…inadequate.” she searched his narrow eyes. He looked very sensuous with his shirt unbuttoned and his hair disheveled by her hands. “I’ve never been embarrassed with you.”
“It’s natural, isn’t it?” he asked quietly. “Like breathing.” His forefinger began to trace the hard nipple and she clutched his shirt and shuddered. “Addictive and dangerous,” he whispered as his mouth hovered over hers and his touch grew more sensual, more arousing. “Like…loving…”
His mouth covered hers before she could be certain that she’d heard the word at all, and then it was too late to think. She gave him her mouth, all of her body that he wanted, abandoned and passionately in love, totally without shame.
“No, don’t!” she wept frantically when he pulled back.
He stilled her hands and drew her close, rocking her against him. He was shivering, too, and his voice was strained. “I hurt, little one,” he whispered. “Be still. Let me calm down.”
She bit her lower lip until she almost drew blood, trembling in his arms. He whispered to her, soothed her with his voice and his hands until she calmed and lay still against him, trying to breathe.
He let out a long breath. “My God, it’s been a long time since I’ve been that excited by a woman. A few more seconds and I couldn’t have pulled back at all.”
She nuzzled her face into his hot throat. “Would it be the end of the world if we went all the way?” she whispered boldly.
“No. Probably not. But as my brother Evan reminded me about something else tonight, it’s time I started practicing what I preach. I want a ring on your finger before I make love to you completely.”
“You’re a hopeless Puritan,” she murmured dryly.
“Yes, I am,” he agreed. He raised his cheek from her dark hair. “And a pretty desperate one. Name a date.”
She stared at him worriedly. She was sure. But it was his body that wanted her most, not his heart. “Harden, you have to be sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“I know how badly you want me,” she began, frowning uncertainly. “But there has to be more than just that.”
He didn’t listen. He was looking down his nose at her with glittery blue eyes. “You can have two weeks to make up your mind.”
“And, after that?” she asked slowly.
“After that, I’ll pick you up, fly you down to Mexico, and you’ll be married before you have time to argue about it.”
“That’s not fair!” she exclaimed.
“I don’t feel fair,” he shot back. “My God, I’m alive, really alive, for the first time in my life, and so are you. I’m not going to let you throw this away.”
“But what if it’s all just physical?” she groaned.
“Then it’s still more than four out of five couples have. You’ll get used to me. I won’t pretend that it’s going to be easy, but you will. I’ll never lift a hand to you, or do anything to shame you. I won’t stifle you as a person. All I’ll expect from you is fidelity. And later, perhaps, a child.”
“I’d like to have a family,” she said quietly. She lowered her eyes. “I suppose sometimes we do get second chances, don’t we?”
He’d been thinking the same thing. His fingers touched her cheek, smoothing down to her mouth. “Yes. Sometimes we do, Miranda.” He brushed her lips gently with his before he rearranged their disheveled clothing and led her back to the house.
Miranda felt like an actress playing a part for the next few days. Determined to find out if Harden could accept her as he thought she was, she played the city ingenue to the hilt. Leaving the jeans and cotton shirts she’d packed still in their cases, she chose her best dress slacks—white ones, of course—and silk blouses to wear around the ranch. She did her makeup as carefully as if she were going to work. She acted as if she found the cattle smelly and frightening.
“They won’t hurt you,” Harden said, and it was taking a real effort not to react badly to this side of her. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t to find her afraid of cattle. That was a bad omen. Worse, she balked when he offered to take her riding.
“I don’t like horses,” she lied. “I’ve only been on them once or twice, and it’s uncomfortable and scary. Can’t we go in the truck?”
Harden had to bite his tongue. “Of course, we can,” he said with gentlemanly courtesy. “It doesn’t matter.”
It did, though, she could tell. She clung to his arm as they walked back from the barn, because she was wearing high heels.
“Honey, don’t you have some less dressy slacks and some flat shoes?” he asked after a minute, frowning down at her. “That’s really not the rig to wear around here. You’ll ruin your pretty things.”
She smiled at the consideration and pressed closer. “I don’t care. I love being with you.”
His arm slid around her, and all his worries about her ability to fit in disappeared like fog in sunlight. “I like being with you, too,” he said quietly. He held her against his side, aware of mingled feelings of peace and riotous desire and pleasure as he felt her softness melt into his strength so trustingly.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it, that I’m not a country girl?” she asked when they reached the truck.
He frowned. His pale blue eyes searched her gray ones. “It isn’t that important,” he said stubbornly. “After all, you won’t be expected to help me herd cattle or pull calves. We have other common interests.”
“Yes. Like walks in the park and science fiction movies and quiet nights at home watching television,” she said, grinning up at him.
The frown didn’t fade. He couldn’t put it into words, but it was a little surprising that a woman who liked the park and loathed parties wouldn’t be right at home on a ranch.
He shrugged it off and put her into the cab of the truck beside him, driving around to where Old Man Red, their prize-winning Santa Gertrudis bull lived in air-conditioned luxury in his own barn.
Miranda had to stifle a gasp of pure pleasure when she saw the enormous animal. He had the most beautiful conformation she’d ever seen, and she’d seen plenty in her childhood and adolescence on her father’s South Dakota ranch. She knew Old Man Red’s name from the livestock sale papers, from the annual breeders’ editions. He was a legend in cattle circles, and here he stood, close enough to touch. His progeny thrived not only in the United States, but in countries around the world.
“He’s so big,” she said, sighing with unconscious delight.
“Our pride and joy,” Harden replied. He reached out and smoothed the animal’s muzzle affectionately. “He’s been cosseted so much that he’s nothing but a big pet these days.”
“An expensive one, I’ll bet,” she said, trying not to give away her own knowledge of his value.
“He is that.” He looked down at her. “I thought you didn’t like cattle, city girl,” he murmured. “Your eyes sure sparkle when you look at him.”
She reached up to his ear. “Roast beef,” she whispered. “I’m drooling.”
“You cannibal!” he burst out, and laughed.
The sound was new, and pleasant. Startled, she laughed, too. “I’m sorry. That was unforgivable, wasn’t it?” she mused.
“I’d rather eat my older brother Evan than put a fork to Old Man Red!”
Her eyebrows went up. “Poor Evan!”
“No, poor me,” he replied. “He’d probably take weeks of tenderizing just to be digestible.”
She slid her fingers into his and followed him down the wide aisle of the barn, happier than she could ever remember being. “Did you grow up here?”
He nodded. “My brothers and I used to play cowboy and Indian.”
“You always got to be the Indian,” she imagined.
He frowned. “How did you know that?”
“You’re stoic,” she said simply. “Very dignified and aloof.”
“So is Connal. You’ll meet him tonight. He’s bringing Pepi and the baby over.” He hesitated, staring at her expression. “It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”
She turned, looking up at him. “Not if you’re with me.”
His breath caught. She made him feel so necessary. He caught her by the arms and drew her slowly to him, enfolding her. He laid his cheek against her dark hair and the wind blew down the long aisle, bringing the scent of fresh hay and cattle with it.
“I suppose you played with dolls when you were a little girl,” he murmured.
“Not really. I liked to—” She stopped dead, because she couldn’t admit, just yet, that she was riding in rodeos when she was in grammar school. Winning trophies, too. Thank God Sam had kept those at his house, so Harden hadn’t seen them when he came to her apartment.
“You liked to…?” he prompted.
