by Nora Roberts
out, watching as Bret was tossed a glove and greeted with open enthusiasm by various members of her family. The sound of shouting and laughter carried by the breeze floated to her. Hillary turned from the door and went back to work.
Her mother came into the kitchen and Hillary responded to her chattering with occasional murmurs. She felt annoyingly distracted by the activity outside.
“Better call them in to wash up.” Sarah interrupted her thoughts, and Hillary moved automatically to the door, opening it and whistling shrilly. Her fingers retreated from her mouth in shock, and she cursed herself for again playing the fool in front of Bret. Stomping back into the kitchen, she slammed the screen behind her. Hillary found herself seated beside Bret at dinner, and ignoring the bats waging war in her stomach, she gave herself over to the table chaos, unwilling for him or her family to see she was disturbed in any way.
As the family gravitated to the living room, Hillary saw Bret once more in discussion with her father, and pointedly gave her attention to her nephew, involving herself with his game of trucks on the floor. His small brother wandered over and climbed into Bret’s lap, and she watched under the cover of her lashes as he bounced the boy idly on his knee.
“Do you live with Aunt Hillary in New York?” the child asked suddenly, and a small truck dropped from Hillary’s hand with a clatter.
“Not exactly.” He smiled slowly at Hillary’s rising color. “But I do live in New York.”
“Aunt Hillary’s going to take me to the top of the Empire State Building,” he announced with great pride. “I’m going to spit from a million feet in the air. You can come with us,” he invited with childlike magnanimity.
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” Lean fingers ruffled dark hair. “You’ll have to let me know when you’re going.”
“We can’t go on a windy day,” the boy explained, meeting gray eyes with six-year-old wisdom. “Aunt Hillary says if you spit into the wind you get your face wet.”
Laughter echoed through the room, and Hillary rose and picked up the boy bodily, marching toward the kitchen. “I think there’s a piece of pie left. Let’s go fill your mouth.”
The light was muted and soft with dusk when Hillary’s brothers and their families made their departure. A few traces of pink bleeding from the sinking sun traced the horizon. She remained alone on the porch for a time, watching twilight drifting toward darkness, the first stars blinking into life, the first crickets disturbing the silence.
Returning inside, the house seemed strangely quiet. Only the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock disturbed the hush. Curling into a chair, Hillary watched the progress of a chess game between Bret and her father. In spite of herself, she found herself enchanted by the movements of his long fingers over the carved pieces.
“Checkmate.” She started at Bret’s words, so complete had been her absorption.
Tom frowned at the board a moment, then stroked his chin. “I’ll be darned, so it is.” He grinned over at Bret and lit his pipe. “You play a fine game of chess, son. I enjoyed that.”
“So did I.” Bret leaned back in his chair, flicking his lighter at the end of a cigarette. “I hope we’ll be able to play often. We should find the opportunity, since I intend to marry your daughter.”
The statement was matter-of-factly given. As the words passed from Hillary’s ear to brain, her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
“As head of the family,” Bret went on, not even glancing in her direction, “I should assure you that financially Hillary will be well cared for. The pursuit of her career is, of course, her choice, but she need only work for her own satisfaction.”
Tom puffed on his pipe and nodded.
“I’ve thought this through very carefully,” Bret continued, blowing out a lazy stream of smoke. “A man reaches a time when he requires a wife and wants children.” His voice was low and serious, and Tom met laughing gray eyes equally. “Hillary suits my purposes quite nicely. She is undoubtedly stunning, and what man doesn’t enjoy beauty? She’s fairly intelligent, adequately strong, and is apparently not averse to children. She is a bit on the skinny side,” he added with some regret, and Tom, who had been nodding in agreement to Hillary’s virtues, looked apologetic.
“We’ve never been able to fatten her up any.”
“There is also the matter of her temper,” Bret deliberated, weighing pros and cons. “But,” he concluded with a casual gesture of his hand. “I like a bit of spirit in a woman.”
Hillary sprang to her feet, unable for several attempts to form a coherent sentence. “How dare you?” she managed at length. “How dare you sit there and discuss me as if I were a-a brood mare! And you,” she chastised her father, “you just go along like you were pawning off the runt of the litter. My own father.”
“I did mention her temper, didn’t I?” Bret asked Tom, and he nodded sagely.
“You arrogant, conceited, son of a—”
“Careful, Hillary,” Bret cautioned, stubbing out his cigarette and raising his brows. “You’ll get your mouth washed out with soap again.”
“If you think for one minute that I’m going to marry you, you’re crazy! I wouldn’t have you on a platter! So go back to New York, and … and print your magazines,” she finished in a rush, and stormed from the house.
After her departure, Bret turned to Sarah. “I’m sure Hillary would want to have the wedding here. Any close friends can fly in easily enough, but since Hillary’s family is here, perhaps I should leave the arrangements to you.”
“All right, Bret. Did you have a date in mind?”
“Next weekend.”
Sarah’s eyes opened wide for a moment as she imagined the furor of arrangements, then tranquilly returned to her knitting. “Leave it to me.”
He rose and grinned down at Tom. “She should have cooled off a bit now. I’ll go look for her.”
“In the barn,” Tom informed him, tapping his pipe. “She always goes there when she’s in a temper.” Bret nodded and strode from the house. “Well, Sarah.” With a light chuckle, Tom resumed puffing on his pipe. “Looks like Hillary has met her match.”
The barn was dimly lit, and Hillary stomped around the shadows, enraged at both Bret and her father. The two of them! she fumed. I’m surprised he didn’t ask to examine my teeth.
With a groan, the barn door swung open, and she spun around as Bret sauntered into the building.
“Hello, Hillary, ready to discuss wedding plans?”
“I’ll never be ready to discuss anything with you!” Her angry voice vibrated in the large building.
Bret smiled into her mutinous face unconcernedly. The lack of reaction incensed her further and she began to shout, storming around the floor. “I’ll never marry you—never, never, never. I’d rather marry a three-headed midget with warts.”
“But you will marry me, Hillary,” he returned with easy confidence. “If I have to drag you kicking and screaming all the way to the altar, you’ll marry me.”
“I said I won’t.” She halted her confused pacing in front of him. “You can’t make me.”
He grabbed her arms and surveyed her with laconic arrogance. “Oh, can’t I?”
Pulling her close, he captured her mouth.
“You let go of me,” she hissed, pulling away. “You let go of my arms.”
“Sure.” Obligingly, he relinquished his hold, sending her sprawling on her back in a pile of hay.
“You—bully!” she flung at him, and attempted to scramble to her feet, but his body neatly pinned her back into the sweet-smelling hay.
“I only did what I was told. Besides,” he added with a crooked smile, “I always did prefer you horizontal.” She pushed against him, averting her face as his mouth descended. He contented himself with the soft skin of her neck.
“You can’t do this.” Her struggles began to lose their force as his lips found new areas of exploration.
“Yes, I can,” he murmured, finding her mouth a
t last. Slow and deep, the kiss battered at her senses until her lips softened and parted beneath his, her arms circled his neck. He drew back, rubbing her nose with his.
“Wretch!” she whispered, pulling him close until their lips merged again.
“Now are you going to marry me?” He smiled down at her, brushing hair from her cheek.
“I can’t think,” she murmured and shut her eyes. “I can’t ever think when you kiss me.”
“I don’t want you to think.” He busied his fingers loosening her buttons. “I just want you to say it.” His hand took possession of her breast and gently caressed it. “Just say it, Hillary,” he ordered, his mouth moving down from her throat, seeking her vulnerability. “Say it, and I’ll give you time to think.”
“All right,” she moaned. “You win, I’ll marry you.”
“Good,” he said simply, bringing his lips back to hers for a brief kiss.
She fought the fog of longing clouding her senses and attempted to escape. “You used unfair tactics.”
He shrugged, holding her beneath him easily. “All’s fair in love and war, my love.” His eyes lost their laughter as he stared down at her. “I love you, Hillary. You’re in every part of my mind. I can’t get you out. I love every crazy, beautiful inch of you.” His mouth crushed hers, and she felt the world slip from her grasp.
“Oh, Bret.” She began kissing his face with wild abandon. “I love you so much. I love you so much I can’t bear it. All this time I thought … When Charlene told me you’d been with her that night in the mountains, I—”
“Wait a minute.” He halted her rapid kisses, cupping her face with his hands. “I want you to listen to me. First of all, what was between Charlene and me was over before I met you. She just wouldn’t let go.” He smiled and brushed her mouth with his. “I haven’t been able to think of another woman since the first day I met you, and I was half in love with you even before that.”
“How?”
“Your picture—your face haunted me.”
“I never thought you were serious about me.” Her fingers began to tangle in his hair.
“I thought at first it was just physical. I knew I wanted you as I’d never wanted another woman. That night in your apartment, when I found out you were innocent, that threw me a bit.” He shook his head in wonder and buried his face in the lushness of her hair. “It didn’t take long for me to realize what I felt for you was much more than a physical need.”
“But you never indicated anything else.”
“You seemed to shy away from relationships—you panicked every time I got too close—and I didn’t want to scare you away. You needed time. I tried to give it to you. Hanging on in New York was difficult enough.” He traced the hollow of her cheek with a finger. “But that day in my lodge, my control slipped. If Larry and June hadn’t come when they did, things would have progressed differently. When you turned on me, telling me you were sick of being pawed, I nearly strangled you.”
“Bret, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” he interrupted. “I’m only sorry I didn’t know then. I didn’t know what Charlene had said to you. Then I began to think you wanted only your career, that you didn’t want to make room in your life for anything or anyone else. In my office that day, you were so cool and detached, ticking off your choices, I wanted to toss you out the window.”
“They were all lies,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his. “I never wanted any of it, only you.”
“When June finally told me about the scene with Charlene at the lodge, and I remembered your reaction, I began to put things together. I came looking for you at Bud’s party.” He pulled up his head and grinned. “I intended to talk things out, but you were hardly in any condition for declarations of love by the time I got there. I don’t know how I stayed out of your bed that night, you were so soft and beautiful … and so smashed! You nearly drove me over the edge.”
He lowered his head and kissed her, his control ebbing as his mouth conquered her. His hands began to mold her curves with an urgent hunger, and she clutched him closer, drowning in the pool of his desire.
“Good God, Hillary, we can’t wait much longer.” He removed his weight from her, rolling over on his back, but she went with him, closing her mouth over his. Drawing her firmly away, he let out a deep breath. “I don’t think your father would think kindly of me taking his daughter in a pile of hay in his own barn.”
He pushed her on her back, slipping his arm around her, cradling her head against his shoulder. “I can’t give you Kansas, Hillary,” he said quietly. She turned her head to look at him. “We can’t live here—at least not now. I’ve obligations in New York that I simply can’t deal with from here.”
“Oh, Bret,” she began, but he pulled her closer and continued.
“There’s upper New York or Connecticut. There are plenty of places where commuting would be no problem. You can have a house in the country if that’s what you want. A garden, horses, chickens, half a dozen kids. We’ll come back here as often as we can, and go up to the lodge for long weekends, just the two of us.” He looked down, alarmed at the tears spilling from wide eyes and over smooth cheeks. “Hillary, don’t do that. I don’t want you to be unhappy. I know this is home to you.” He began to brush the drops from her face.
“Oh, Bret, I love you.” She pulled his cheek against hers. “I’m not unhappy. I’m wonderfully, crazily happy that you care so much. Don’t you know it doesn’t matter where we are? Anyplace I can be with you is home.”
He drew her away and regarded her with a frown. “Are you sure, love?”
She smiled and lifted her mouth, letting her kiss give him the answer.
