ONLY an inch of snow fell today, but the winds through Diablo Pass were howling up to forty miles an hour, piling more snow on the road and taking visibility nonexistent. Beau had received reports that it would take at least two days of calm weather to clear the mounting drifts. This couldn’t have been worse news for Amy.
She’d talked to Ira on the radio this evening after dinner. There were four cowhands in the bunkhouse at the time, as well as Beau’s forbidding presence, so she could only chat about the weather, her newly acquired ranching skills and her growing affection for Wyoming. She didn’t mention her blisters, her sore muscles or her scowling host. And once again, she was left with Ira’s promise to repay her patience with that trip to France.
When she’d left the bunkhouse, she had a feeling everyone’s eyes had been on her. She hadn’t realized Beau’s employees still didn’t know she was Ira’s fiance and she sensed that they didn’t think highly of the idea, though no one said anything. It was something in their eyes—a sort of disappointment in her—and it made her unaccountably sad. Clearly, Ira and his string of women weren’t the most beloved people in this part of the state.
As she carried a pile of towels and clothes to the laundry room, she tried to shake off the realization. Work had always helped her forget her troubles before. So she decided to let work do its job again. Besides, she’d never liked the idea of Cookie waiting on her hand and foot, and had no intention of allowing the housekeeper to increase her work load on her account. Doing laundry seemed like a good way to be helpful and to take her mind off Beau—er—the unrelenting snow.
Heading into the kitchen with her bundle, she found her mind drifting to thoughts about what had happened between Beau and her last night. Even all her activity couldn’t seem to keep those heated memories at bay. Pulling her lips between her teeth, she recalled his admonition about how naive she was. She didn’t want to believe it, but she was starting to realize she’d been naive about a lot of things, things that—because of her sister’s needs—had blinded her to certain troublesome facts.
Now. that she’d had all day to stew on Beau’s remark, she understood Ira would want more than simple companionship before too long. After all, he was only in his late fifties, a healthy man, with many good years left. And recently she’d discovered how very normal she was—with all the needs and desires of any woman. How ironic that she’d learned that truth from a man who disliked her so intensely.
She knew now, if she planned to keep her marriage to Ira platonic, she would ultimately be cheating them both. Besides, how could she offer him anything more than companionship after what she’d learned these past few days? She didn’t love him. And having met his son, she feared she never could feel anything more for him than mild affection.
Mindlessly, she opened the door to the steamy laundry room where at least one of the washing machines and two commercial-size dryers were sloshing and whirring all day long. Loading up another of the washers with her things, she reluctantly let her mind roam along dark, worrisome paths she could no longer avoid.
What if Ira had been making empty promises, playing on her trusting nature and her weakness for Mary, just to get himself another young plaything? If so, it would be better this way, breaking it off before it got worse. On the other hand, could Beau be deliberately making trouble, manipulating her to doubt her own motives and Ira’s? If that was the case, then she would be hurting Ira badly by breaking their engagement. She hated the thought. The last thing she wanted was to hurt anyone, but she really had no choice—not after tasting Beau’s sizzling kisses.
She added bleach and soap and turned on the machine, hardly registering her actions. Her mind rebuked, “How could you have gotten yourself into such a mess?” She supposed her mental state when she’d met Ira had been greatly to blame. She’d been weary of the sleazy passes she received every night from drunks who thought they were God’s gift to womankind. And she’d been worried sick about her sister’s upcoming surgery and the ever-present bills. Ira had been so kind, such a respectful gentleman. And he’d made her laugh. When he’d proposed, it had seemed like the perfect answer to all her predicaments.
Beau was right. She had been naive. The only difference was, he’d made the remark sarcastically. He didn’t truly believe she was naive. There was no doubt in her mind that he thought she was using Ira for his money and lying to Beau to appease him.
She left the kitchen and hurried through the living room, working to stave off mental images of what had happened there last night. Turning down the long hall that headed away from her room, she made for the linen closet to retrieve clean towels.
Her mind spiraled back to Mary, and she swiped at a tear. It was all so painfully clear now. She’d acted impetuously, not carefully considering what her marriage to Ira would be like. And adding guilt upon guilt, she finally had to admit to herself that her concern over Mary had been the major reason she’d so abruptly accepted Ira’s proposal.
She felt vile about that. If that wasn’t enough, she now knew she would be carrying around the memory of a pair of furious blue eyes for a very long time.
Reaching the linen-closet door, she made a vow to herself. She would keep a brave face until the weather cleared. Then she would travel to Ira’s ranch and break off her engagement. She owed Ira the courtesy of telling him face-to-face. It would be unfair just to run away. The specter of Mary’s medical bills rose before her like a threatening demon, and she shuddered with dismay. Still, she couldn’t allow money to sway her any longer. She refused to believe she could be the sort of woman Beau thought she was.
Swinging open the door, she froze in a stunned tableau, her hands outstretched toward shelves that weren’t there. Her lips parted in horror. Clearly, she’d opened the wrong door. Instead of a linen closet, she found herself standing in the entry way of a bathroom, a simple, well-lit cubicle, its foggy air fragrant with the scent of soap. A few scant steps in front of her, Beau stood, clad only in a towel.
Her heart stopped as he paused in the act of shaving, a straight razor hovering along his jaw. He was so striking, towering there in his near nudity. His well-muscled chest, silky with dark hair, glistened with moisture from his shower, and his long, sturdy legs were braced wide. The saddle muscles were clearly defined in his powerful thighs. She watched them flex as he shifted, and a tingle of excitement danced along her spine as she recalled how delightfully firm they’d felt beneath her hips.
For some reason, she couldn’t back away and close the door. She just stood rooted there like a potted plant, gaping. With the lift of an inquiring brow, he canted his head her way. “Is this a come-on, or were you hoping to see me slit my throat?”
“Oh! I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I was looking for a towel….”
With a roguish twitch of his lips, he tucked a thumb inside the one tied at his waist and tugged. “If you need one that badly—take mine.”
The flash of bare, taut hip knocked her out of her paralysis. Fumbling for the knob, she managed to slam the door a second before his towel thudded against it.
Rich, mocking laughter chased her down the hall.
Snow, snow and more snow! The next day was an exhausting carbon copy of so many before, and Amy was tired. But before she fell into bed, she decided to look in on Desiree. The innocent little calf always lifted her spirits. And now that her future was so bleak and insecure, she found herself visiting Desiree more and more.
Though the cowboys were friendly and respectful, they seemed distant, knowing she was engaged to Ira. She felt bad about that. Even so, she didn’t intend to defensively blurt out that she wasn’t going to marry him after all. Ira deserved to hear it from her first.
After a quiet visit, she gave Desiree a melancholy hug. “Good night, sweetie. I promise, after I leave here, I’ll write.” She stood, then realized what she’d said and laughed at herself, even in her dour mood. “Well, maybe not write. But since we’re so good at mental telepathy, I’ll ‘think’ my love to you. Okay?”
The calf blinked and bawled.
“Then it’s settled. After I leave, I’ll think to you every day.” Turning away, she waved at the calf, feeling a new surge of depression. She would have to leave her little pet behind when she returned to Chicago. She had a feeling her landlord’s “no pets” rule probably included cows. “Get some sleep, sweetie.” The sadness in her voice startled her. This place had gotten into her blood awfully quickly. “Not just the place,” her brain jeered. She bit down hard on her lip, hoping the pain would make her forget who had gotten into her blood since her coming out here.
She trudged around the calving barn toward the ranch house, noticing the snow had stopped and the wind that had blown insistently all day had died. She looked up. There were even a few brave stars twinkling down at her.
Off in the distance, she heard the crunch of hooves on frozen snow. Turning toward the sound, she squinted through the dimness, focusing on a stand of pines. In the dusk, she saw a man on horseback emerging from the woods.
Her heart lurched when she realized it was Beau astride his black stallion. As he drew nearer, she could see his brows were frosted silver and he was wearing a dark bandanna over his mouth and nose. For a split second, she was transported back in time—to a lawless era where even the best of men could be wild and dangerous if driven far enough. Right now, Amy couldn’t think of any man, anywhere, more threatening to her peace of mind than the one before her now.
The horse stilled under Beau’s wordless command, and for a long moment they watched each other. He reached up and yanked his kerchief down, revealing a grim smile that hid nothing of his smoldering antagonism. He startled her when he signaled his horse forward. She didn’t move, and wasn’t sure why she didn’t, for he was heading directly at her.
Lifting her chin, she eyed him grudgingly. She didn’t want to be spellbound, standing helplessly in the subzero night, breathless to see what he was planning. But for some reason, she couldn’t bear the idea of leaving, never to know what was on his mind.
When he reached her, he brought the stallion to a halt and held out a gloved hand, as though there was no question that she’d accept it and allow herself to be lifted into his lap. How audacious of him! How dare he? Yet even as she mentally berated him, finding him the most arrogant, egotistical rogue in the world, she lifted her arms, welcoming his invitation.
In the wink of an eye, he swung her up into the saddle, her legs straddling his thighs. Though she snuggled against him, she was shocked at herself for allowing this to happen. It couldn’t have been a worse time to discover she no longer had the strength to fight her attraction for him. These days and nights of imprisonment with him had broken her resolve until it was nothing more than tattered, useless threads.
He steered his stallion away from the light, leading them toward the darkened wood. For a long time, Sovereign walked among the snow-laden pine boughs, the only sounds his hoofbeats in the snow and the occasional creak of leather. Amy didn’t know where they were going and didn’t care. She inhaled the cold air, Beau’s warm scent mingling with it, stirring the embers of her passion. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying she wouldn’t betray herself tonight, but far from sure of anything anymore.
After a long, quiet ride, they emerged on a bluff overlooking a wide, open valley. After the darkness of the wood, the clearing night and luminous snow seemed almost as bright as day. Amy blinked, taking a slow sweep of the idyllic scene. In the valley’s center, a teardrop lake glimmered like a dusky jewel. Within the depths of the frozen water winked reflected stars from the Wyoming heavens, like diamonds set in the lake floor.
Beau didn’t say a word, just led his steed along the bluff above the Christmas-card lake. The setting was so charming and unspoiled, Amy couldn’t speak even if she’d wanted to. They rode along in the white silence, and she found herself wishing she had the slightest urge to be anywhere else in the world. But, sadly, she didn’t.
After a time, Beau reined in his horse, and she felt him move, tilt back his Stetson and gaze into the sky. She heard him inhale, but he said nothing. Unable to stand the suspense, she worked to gather the remnants of her wits. “Do you have some ice that needs chopping?” she asked, trying to make light of her loss of control. His chuckle tingled through her, giving her a guilty sense of pleasure. This wasn’t helping! She tried again. “Is there a cow that’s slipped on the ice and you need me to lift him up?”
“I didn’t realize you could lift cows, Miss Vale.”
His tone was teasing, and she tried to be affronted, but she wasn’t in the mood to fight. Far from it.’ ‘Try me.” She flinched. That challenge had come out more like a sexual invitation than a test of her cow-lifting skills. She had to get ahold of herself. Grabbing the saddle horn, she shifted forward. “Where are we going, then? Are you planning to murder me and dump me in that sinkhole?”
“Maybe later.” His warm breath ruffled her hair. Using his free arm, he coaxed her back against him, cutting off her renewed vow to keep an emotional distance. She settled there, regretfully accepting the terrible knowledge that she was his—body and soul. Defeat shrouded her heart. She had no more strength to escape him, and tragically, she had no desire to.
With the boundless winter stillness as their companion, he led his steed farther into the storybook valley. “Take a deep breath,” he murmured. “That’s the perfume of snow on the sage.”
She did as he asked, catching his stirring scent in the bargain. The combination was mellow and stimulating. Though she reacted inwardly with a wanton shiver, she managed to remain outwardly composed. Even so, words failed her.
“I wanted you to experience the Wyoming I love.”
She sensed his scorn and frowned. “You really don’t believe I could appreciate the beauty of all this?”
“I don’t think you can appreciate anything but a dollar sign.”
She stiffened, pulling away. “You can’t mean that! Surely you’ve found out that much about me!”
“I think your motives are possibly less grasping than I’d first thought, but marrying someone because of medical bills doesn’t take you out of the bimbo category, and you know it.”
“So you’ve figured that out, have you?” she snapped, stung by his accusation. Struggling from his arms, she managed to jump from the saddle. “Congratulations, Inspector Clouseau! You’ve nabbed your bimbo!” She tumbled into the snow, floundering to her knees. “Just for the record, I love Wyoming, I love my sister and—”
“And what?” he demanded, suddenly there, his hands gripping her arms.
She grappled to keep him from helping her, but couldn’t extricate herself from his grasp. Jamming her fists against him, she fought not only his sensual pull but her inner turmoil. She wasn’t the cheap sort of woman he thought she was. But what could she doblurt out her love for him? That would be quite a sight—his amused expression at the conquest of his father’s fiancée. That would kill her soul.
“And nothing!” she retorted. “I keep telling you, what’s between your father and me is none of your business!”
She tried to jerk from his hold, but only succeeded in falling on her back. His strength was too much for her and she couldn’t evade him. They were lying in the snow, Beau above her. His mouth set, he demanded coldly, “Admit you’re not in love.”
Dismay washed through her. How could she admit that? She was in love—only not with Ira, but with a man who didn’t trust her, didn’t believe a word she said. “I can’t admit that!” She told the sad truth contemptuously, in an effort to mask her heartbreak. “Because I am in love.” Their breaths mingled in charged air. She wanted to hold him, kiss him, love him right here in the snow. But knowing it would be a fool’s errand to start anything that could only lead to heartbreak, she grabbed at the snow to keep from taking him in her arms. With heavy sadness in her heart, she demanded, “Happy now?”
His gaze held all the warmth of a block of granite. “Ecstatic.” Suddenly, he lowered angry lips to hers. She gasped at the blistering effect of his mouth against hers, and her resistance melted like a snowflake in a volcano. She moved to take him in her desperate embrace, to return fiery kiss for fiery kiss. But before she could even lift her arms, he cursed against her lips, flinging himself away.
Shaken and aching for more, she lay there staring up at him as he yanked off his Stetson and jerked a hand through his hair. She was astonished to discover he was gentleman enough to be ashamed of himself for kissing an engaged woman who’d just confessed she was in love—though he was wrong about whom she loved.
Oddly, she realized she was no longer ashamed of herself for wanting him to kiss her, or even angry with him for mistrusting her. On the contrary, lying here on her back in the snow, she felt thoroughly alive. How devious life could be.
He stood and swatted his hat against his jeans, dusting off snow in quick, angry strokes. Not sure why she wanted to communicate with him, but positive she must, she struggled up on an elbow. “For your information, I think Wyoming in winter is lovely, too. I’m not exactly the Wicked Witch of the West, you know.”
He glanced at her. For an instant, his eyes seemed to flash with the rage and pain of a wounded animal, but the look was gone so quickly, Amy decided her dazed mind was playing tricks on her.
“Forget it,” he growled. “Go live your life. I’ll stay out of it from now on.” Stooping, he took her arm, hoisting her to her feet. “I’ll help you into the saddle.”
She stared at him. “Aren’t you—”
“I need to walk.”
After boosting her on his horse, he grabbed the reins, leading them back toward civilization. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she watched him hike through the snow with long, irascible strides.
Strangling the saddle horn, she battled to keep from bursting into tears. Why did she have to discover love was real in this horrible way? And why did she have to learn that the soft emotion was not necessarily returned?
She loved Beau Diablo with all her heart—a man committed to his land, admired by his employees and friends and true to his word. She had a strong sense that when the right woman came along, he would be totally committed to her, too. Unfortunately, he thought Amy Vale was the most wrong female to ever walk the face of the earth.
She knew it would do no good to tell him how she felt. He would only laugh, unable to trust anything she said, unable to believe she could actually love him—not after coming out here to marry his father. He would simply think she’d discovered through idle ranch chatter that he was a wealthier—and therefore better—meal ticket.
She fought her need to slip from the saddle, run to him, pull him down in the snow and savor the full heat and depth of his passions, no matter how fleeting her joy might be. She was a coward and couldn’t bear to witness his dry grin of vengeance once it was done. So she simply stared after him, hopeless longing shimmering in her eyes.
Two days passed as the weather gradually cleared. The phone lines to Diablo Butte were repaired, and the bulldozers were making headway clearing the pass. Amy’s heart was torn with a need to leave Beau’s ranch and a tormenting desire to stay—even if she had to endure blisters and angry glowers forever. She knew that was crazy and impractical. Ever since their rash tumble in the snow, Beau had kept a distance. Every time their eyes met, his glances were stormy and brooding.
Amy finished lunch in the cook house. So far today, she hadn’t seen Beau, so it startled her when he called her name. She shifted toward the side door where he’d just entered. Before she could speak, he said, “Ira’s on the phone for you.”
A knot tightened in her stomach, but she stood, nodding.
“You can take it in my den.”
Refusing to meet his malevolent gaze, she grabbed her coat and darted outside.
As she rushed into the kitchen, she spied the wall phone and decided to take the call there. Everybody was in the cook house. And she didn’t feel like facing Beau’s den. She knew it was down the hall from his room, but entering his personal sanctuary would be more agonizing than worthwhile. She lifted the receiver and worked on sounding cheerful “Hello, Ira.”
“Hello, little one,” he bellowed through a laugh. “You sound fine. I’m surprised. I thought you’d be sick with a cold after all the work my slave-driver son made you do.”
She ducked her head, her gaze sliding to the floor. “No, I’m just fine.” She wanted to say she’d enjoyed being out in the snow, laughing and joking with the men, warming her insides with coffee strong enough to support a cow all by itself. She liked the feeling of accomplishment at the end of the day. She’d certainly never felt fulfilled after a night at the bar.
“The road’s almost cleared, little one. Boy, I can’t wait to see you,” he was saying. “I have a special dinner waiting. French champagne’s on ice, too.” Amy flinched. He sounded excited—like a bridegroom. “I figure we can get the preacher out here tomorrow and make it official.”
“Official…” She echoed the word, a bad feeling creeping up her spine. Why did she sense that he was planning on starting the marriage unofficially tonight—in a very carnal way. “Uh—Ira—I need to talk to you about something that’s very important—”
“Sure, little one. We can do anything you want.”
She anxiously twisted the phone cord around a finger. He was appeasing her, not really listening. “Ira,” she whispered, “I’m not quite packed. Maybe I’d better go finish.”
“Great. Great.” He laughed again. “Don’t want to have you get here one second later than you have to.”
“Love you, little one.” He made a kissing sound in the phone. “Now get here as soon as you can.”
“I—I will.” She heard a click in her ear, signaling that he’d hung up. Feeling suddenly very contaminated, she needed to talk to her sister and dialed the number for the convalescent home. It rang only two times before it was answered.
“Hello? This is Amy Vale. May I speak to my sister, please?”
The operator said the usual “One moment,” before she was put on hold.
“Hello, Miss Vale?” came a nasal male voice.
“Yes?”
“This is Dr. Rampling.”
He sounded jovial, so she assumed he must have left instructions to put her on for an update the next time she called. “Oh, hi, Dr. Rampling. Everything okay?”
“Splendid. I just wanted to let you know how much we appreciate the payment your fiance made. It covers Mary’s bills up to now, and includes an advance for next month. That should take her right up until time to travel.”
The knot in Amy’s stomach constricted, and she leaned weakly against the wall. “Oh? I—he didn’t mention it.”
“Well, I won’t keep you talking. Mary is coming along very well. I believe with this last surgery, she’ll be walking without a limp before too long.”
Tears of joy welled in her eyes. “Oh, Doctor, I’ve waited five years to hear that. Thank you—” Her voice broke. “Thank you so much.”
“It was your sister’s courage that got her this far. Here, I’ll transfer you to her room.”
“Thank you, Doctor, and once again I want to—” Before she could finish speaking, he was gone. She shook her head at his disinclination to accept thanks. When she heard Mary’s voice, her spirits soared.
They talked for a quarter of an hour, and Mary’s lightheartedness made Amy laugh several times. Yet deep in her heart she knew she had to tell her sister the truth. Finally, Mary asked, “What is it, Amy? You sound—funny.”
Eyeing the ceiling, Amy sighed. She should have known. Mary didn’t miss much. “Er—look, honey, I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think I can go through with marrying Ira.”
There was a pause of a few heartbeats before Mary said, “Good.”
Amy was taken off guard. “Why good?”
“You didn’t love him. Isn’t that enough reason?”
Amy smiled wanly, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “You knew?”
“Yeah. But I figured it was your business who you married.”
“But Mom was happy, and she didn’t love Dad when they got married.”
“Ira isn’t Dad.”
Amy frowned, then realized Mary’s simple statement had been terribly insightful. She laughed then. It wasn’t much of a laugh, but it was a beginning. “You only talked to him on the phone one time. How did you get to be so wise?”
“I’m your sister, that’s how,” Mary insisted. “Now, come home as soon as you can. We’ll make out. Why, in a month I’ll be fine and I can get a job, too.”
Amy’s mood plummeted. “Don’t you worry about getting a job, young lady. Just think about getting well.”
“I love you, Amy. I can’t wait to see you.”
She heard a squeak and knew the kitchen door was opening. “I can’t wait to see you either, honey. I love you. Bye.”
She turned to hang up the receiver and was startled to see Beau, not Cookie, as she’d expected.
By some sort of ironic retribution, he appeared very much the same as he had the first moment she’d seen him—his Stetson brim pulled low over sparking eyes, that split-hide coat snug across wide shoulders. Anger curved his lips now, just as it had then. Only she hadn’t been in love with him then—or maybe she had, even at that first crazy instant he’d stalked into the store.
“How is my father?” he asked.
Jarred from her dark musing, she realized he assumed she’d been on the phone with her fiance all the time. “He’s fine,” she said minimally. What did it matter now? Soon she’d be on a bus to Chicago and she’d never see Beau again. “I—I was just about to finish packing.”
“Good.” He hung up his coat and tossed his hat onto one of the hooks. “The road to Diablo Butte is open.”
Amy had the peculiar notion there was something behind the scorn in his words. Was it a touch of melancholy? Surely not. She shook off the fantasy. “I— guess I’d better get ready, then.”
He nodded, his glance flicking her way for an instant. The quick, sharp look was like a knife in her soul. “When you’re ready, Snapper will drive you.”
Before she could say thank-you or even goodbye, he disappeared through the kitchen door. As his footsteps faded in the distance, her throat closed and she found it hard to catch her breath. The man she loved had just cavalierly walked away, making it brutally clear he didn’t care to see her—ever again.