Читать книгу Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth - Joan Johnston - Страница 7

FARON SPOKE SOFTLY AS HE UNLOADED the quarter horse gelding from the trailer. He had pulled his pickup well off the highway near a pasture gate. “I know it’s been a long trip, Sonny. We’re both tired of traveling. Just take it easy, boy. According to that old man at the gas station in Casper we’re standing on Wayne Prescott’s land. Just be patient a few more minutes until I get you saddled up, and we’ll take ourselves a look-see.”

The horse nickered as though he understood Faron and stood patiently while Faron brushed him down and saddled him up. It had been a long drive from northwest Texas to northeastern Wyoming. As Faron stepped into the saddle he thought of what the white-haired gent at the gas station had told him about his father’s land.

“Mr. Prescott had him a kingdom, all right. Called his spread King’s Castle. Miles and miles of the prettiest grassland you ever did see,” the old man had said. “That big old house is set off in the middle of nowhere. Near three stories high, made of gray stone, with them little pointy things on the roof like some storybook castle. Even called it The Castle, Mr. Prescott did.”

Now, as Faron surveyed his father’s domain, he was humbled by its vastness, awed by its richness. On this warm, surprisingly summerlike day in May, blue grama grass and wheatgrass flowed in waves over the rolling hills as far as the eye could see. This was cattle country, but there was a wealth of riches under the ground, as well. Oil. Natural gas. And coal.

Faron gave the horse his head and let him run. He felt the power of the animal beneath him, taking him farther into an untamed wilderness. He urged the animal on, as though by running faster he could escape the oppressive feelings that had haunted him since he had learned the truth about his birth.

It had taken him a week to put his things together after he had told Garth he was leaving. He had received yet another letter from Belinda Prescott asking him whether he was coming. She had sounded desperate. It made him wonder why she was so anxious for him to visit King’s Castle. He had unbent enough to tell her he was coming, but he hadn’t given her a definite date. His wire had simply said, “I’ll be there when I get there.”

Faron rode some distance from the highway, until there was nothing to remind him of the civilized world he had left behind. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he spied a blond woman riding a palomino in the distance. Horse and rider presented a stunning picture. Her waist-length hair, flying like a gonfalon behind her, was the same magnificent gold as the horse’s mane and tail.

He shouted to attract her attention. When she turned her head to stare at him, Faron drew breath with an audible gasp. She was incredibly beautiful. Ethereal. Like some fairy princess. He wondered for a moment if he had conjured her in his imagination.

But the shock on her face was real. And the sound of the palomino’s thundering hooves as she galloped her horse away was real.

Intrigued, Faron pursued his elusive golden princess. He dug his heels in and urged his mount to a run. The quarter horse was bred for speed over short distances, and Faron quickly overtook the woman. He grabbed the palomino’s bridle and hauled her horse to a stop.

The woman stared at him wide-eyed, wary.

Faron smiled. It was a smile that said, “You can trust me. I won’t hurt you. I find you absolutely lovely.”

But his elusive princess—who else but a princess would he find on King’s Castle land?—wasn’t the least bit impressed.

“Let me go,” she said in a breathless voice. “Please.”

He let go of the bridle but said, “Don’t go. Stay and talk with me.”

She took her lower lip between her teeth. He could see her distress, the struggle to decide. “We’re strangers,” she said at last. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“If we talk, we won’t be strangers for long,” he promised. “Please.”

“I have to go home.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“None of your business.”

“All right, then. No names. I’ll call you Princess. You can call me…Cowboy.”

He thought he saw the hint of a smile curl her lip, but she flattened it out damn quick. Faron stepped down from his horse and walked around its head to stand at her side. He tipped his Stetson back and smiled up at her. “I’ll help you down.”

He didn’t give her a chance to object. Before she could say anything Faron had got hold of her tiny waist. He could feel the tension in her as he lifted her off the horse. She met his gaze for an instant with frightened eyes before she lowered her lashes, and he realized that she expected him to take advantage of the situation. Maybe he should have dragged her down the length of him. He sure as hell had wanted to bad enough.

She clearly had a body made for loving. She was nearly as tall as he was. Her head came all the way to his chin, which was surprising because he was well over six feet. She was wearing a long-sleeved man’s shirt tucked into fitted Levi’s, but both shirt and jeans showed off a figure that was fully feminine. Her boots were well used but expensive, ostrich if he wasn’t mistaken.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping when she glanced up at him again. She had eyes a rare violet color. Her complexion would have earned the envy of a pale pink rose. As he stared at her, stricken by emotions he couldn’t name, he saw her cheeks darken to a redder rose.

“I should go home,” she said. But she sounded less sure about leaving. She was worrying that full lower lip again with pearly white teeth.

Faron slipped her hand through his crooked arm, took the reins of both horses and started walking toward a meadow of spring wildflowers. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Princess?”

He could feel the tension in her, and he kept talking in an attempt to show her he wasn’t a threat to her. At least not yet.

“Tell me about yourself,” he urged.

She eyed him from beneath lowered lashes. “What do you want to know?”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

For the first time, her lips curved in a genuine smile. Sweet and kind of sad. “Three sisters.”

“Older or younger?”

“All younger. You?”

Faron opened his mouth to say two brothers and a sister, then realized he would have to qualify that—half brothers and a half sister. He frowned. Damned if he would. “I’ve got two older brothers and a younger sister.”

He felt her relax almost immediately. Amazing how having a family made him seem less dangerous. Little did she know. His family was about the most unruly bunch he knew. “What are you doing way out here?” he asked.

She looked off into the distance. “Running from my problems.”

He was tempted to make a flippant retort, but her honesty spurred him to equal sincerity. “Me, too.”

She looked up at him again from beneath those dark lashes, to see if he was telling the truth. He realized she hadn’t once looked at him directly and figured she must be used to hiding her feelings. But from whom? And why?

His lips twisted wryly. “Seems like we do have something in common, Princess. How ’bout if we run off together and leave our problems behind?”

“I can’t—”

“Just for the afternoon,” he urged. “What do you say? Let’s throw our cares to the four winds and enjoy this afternoon together.”

He felt her hand tremble where it lay on his forearm. She withdrew it and clasped her hands together in front of her. He could see she was tempted. He wished he knew what to say to push her over the brink. Nothing came to mind, so he just smiled.

Belinda knew she was making a mistake even as she nodded her head yes. She had to be crazy. She was truly certifiable. Imagine agreeing to spend the afternoon with a perfect stranger. She recognized the quality of both his horse and saddle, so she knew he was more than just some drifter. He was wearing frayed jeans, but his Western shirt appeared to have been tailored to fit both his broad shoulders and his lean waist.

But who was he? And where had he come from? She had lived so reclusively at The Castle, he might even be a neighbor from one of the outlying spreads for all she knew. “Are you from around here?” she asked.

“Just passing through.”

That was some comfort. “What brings you here?”

He looked off across the prairie. “Just taking a look around. How about you? You live around here?”

She nodded. “Around.” She wasn’t about to be any more specific than he had been. It was safer that way.

Apparently the Cowboy gave her evasive answer a different meaning because he grinned and said, “So you’re trespassing, too?”

“What?”

“Trespassing. On Wayne Prescott’s land.”

“Oh.” Belinda knew she ought to correct his mistaken impression, but that would mean admitting she was Wayne Prescott’s widow. Which would mean an abrupt end to her afternoon with the Cowboy. She wanted—needed—to forget who she was for a little while. So she said nothing.

Faron took her revealing blush as an admission of equal guilt. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you get into trouble.” After all, he owned half the place. If that bitch stepmother of his tried to make trouble, well, he would handle her. He pulled off his worn leather gloves and tucked them in his belt. Then he held out his hand to her. “I feel like walking some more. Will you join me?”

His smile made the invitation irresistible. Belinda’s heart was doing a rat-a-tat-tat that made her want to press her hands to her chest to slow it down. She forcibly relaxed the knotted fingers she had clasped in front of her and reached out to take his hand. It was warm and callused like a working man’s ought to be. It gave her a feeling of strength and security as it closed around her fingers.

At the same time, she looked up into the Cowboy’s unusual gray-green eyes. They were the color of a mountain spruce, wide-set, heavily lashed and crowned with arched brows. There were webbed lines at the corners, etched there by the sun. His nose was straight and angled slightly at the tip, and he had a beauty mark—was it called that when a man had one?—high on his right cheekbone.

She had been terrified when he chased her on horseback, but he had done a good job of allaying her fears. He hadn’t touched her in any except the most gentlemanly way. She had noticed his restraint when he lifted her off her horse. On the other hand, he hadn’t exactly given her a choice of whether she was going to join him on the ground. She felt certain he wasn’t the sort of man to be denied something he wanted.

Nevertheless, she was inclined to accept him at face value. He was an open, friendly and—she would not deny it—handsome man…who knew his way around women. She had been charmed by that ridiculous name he had called her, Princess. And it was telling that he had tagged himself Cowboy, after that chivalrous knight of the Old West.

So what did he really want from her? She angled her head and took a long hard look at him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“You look familiar somehow.”

He grinned. “Maybe I’m the man you’ve been waiting for all your life.”

Her expression sobered. She was waiting for someone, all right, but it wasn’t the man of her dreams. Any day now she expected her stepson from Texas to arrive. For a horrified instant she wondered if this stranger with whom she had been flirting could be Faron Whitelaw.

But this man couldn’t be Wayne’s son. He didn’t look a bit like Wayne. Wayne’s well-trimmed hair had been almost white blond. This man had coal black hair hanging down over his collar. Nor did his gray-green eyes have anything in common with the cold sapphire of Wayne’s. And the Cowboy’s forearms, visible where his shirtsleeves were folded up, revealed a warm bronze tint totally different from Wayne’s light, easily freckled skin.

Did it really matter who he was? Would it be so awful if she stole an afternoon for herself with a perfect stranger? She had seen the admiration in his eyes, and it felt good. She had found him equally attractive.

He was extraordinarily tall, which was a good thing, since she had been as long-legged as a giraffe all her life. He had the rangy build of a cowboy, long, lean and strong. He had lifted her from the saddle as though she weighed nothing. And she had felt the play of muscle and sinew where her hand rested on his forearm.

Why not join in the Cowboy’s fantasy? Just for an afternoon. What could possibly go wrong?

“So what are you running from?” Belinda asked as she strolled with the Cowboy toward the nearby meadow.

Faron left the two horses with their reins dragging. A cow horse wouldn’t wander far ground-tied like that, and there was plenty of grass to keep the animals close.

“I think this is only going to work if we leave our problems behind us,” Faron said. “We can only talk about good things this afternoon.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Agreed?”

“It’s a deal,” Belinda said.

He lifted the hand he held, turned it over and kissed the center of her palm.

Belinda felt a streak of electricity shoot up her arm. She yanked her hand back reflexively, then laughed to cover the awkwardness it had created between them. “That tickled,” she murmured in excuse and explanation.

“Yeah,” he muttered back. Faron wondered if she had felt the same charge on her skin as he had felt on his lips. It had been an amazingly strong jolt to his system.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Belinda dropped to her knees near a patch of large, daisylike flowers. Nearby was a bunch of bright blue lupine. The top of the hillside was rimmed with Indian paintbrush. “We couldn’t have picked a more perfect spot for an afternoon idyll if we’d tried,” she said.

Faron’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the countryside. “It is beautiful. It’s a shame…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Faron wasn’t about to spoil his afternoon by thinking about his father and stepmother. He sat down and realized the ground still held the chill of winter. He pulled off his denim jacket and said, “Why don’t you sit on this? It’ll keep you from getting cold.”

“I don’t think—”

Again, he didn’t give her a choice. He spread his jacket on the ground, then slipped a hand around her waist and resettled her on the denim. “Thanks,” she murmured.

Faron’s gallantry won him a rare smile that made his heart skip a beat. “You’re welcome.”

Belinda immediately began making a chain from the daisylike flowers. Faron stretched out beside her, his head on his hand.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

Belinda laughed. “Are you always so forthright?”

He felt his body tighten at the sound of her laughter. “I tend to say what I’m thinking.”

She looked up at him from under lowered lashes. “Then since we’re being honest, you’re quite good-looking yourself.”

He grinned. “Thanks.”

She laughed again. He was so different from Wayne. So carefree. She ought not to be here. She ought to be home, wearing black. Mourning.

“What are you thinking, Princess?”

The Cowboy’s voice ripped her from the melancholy that threatened her peace. “What?”

He smoothed the furrows on her brow with his thumb. She had to purposely hold herself still for the caress. It was the first one she had received in so long her skin seemed to come alive beneath his touch. When his fingers trailed into the hair at her temple she leaned away, and his hand dropped back to the grass.

“You looked worried,” he said. “I wondered what you were thinking.”

“That I shouldn’t be here.”

“No time for regrets now. We made a deal. Only happy thoughts.” Faron sat up and leaned his wrist on one bent knee. “Let’s see. What should we talk about?”

“When was the happiest time in your life?” she asked.

“It’s all been pretty good,” he admitted. Until lately. “I guess I’d choose the day I made love to a woman for the first time.”

Faron was both surprised and delighted by the blush that stained her cheeks at his revelation.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Belinda protested with a laugh.

“I warned you I was honest,” Faron said. “It’s your turn now.”

“The happiest time?” she asked. There was a long silence while she thought about it.

“It wasn’t that tough a question, was it?” Faron asked.

She grimaced. “I suppose the happiest time would have been before my parents died, although life was such a struggle on the ranch…” She shrugged.

Belinda could see the Cowboy was about to ask questions she would rather not answer, so she asked, “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“That’s easy,” Faron replied. “The best.”

“At what?”

“Something. Anything.”

“That certainly gave you a lot of room to succeed,” she said teasingly. Apparently he hadn’t liked the idea of being tied down to any one thing. “Are you the best at something?”

Faron grinned. “I’m a damned good cowboy, ma’am.” He leaned back so she could see the rodeo belt buckle he was wearing.

Belinda laughed and realized suddenly it had been a long time since she had done so. “I should have known.” She leaned over and traced the writing on the buckle with her fingertips. Rodeo Cowboy All-Around Champion.

No wonder he had called himself Cowboy!

Faron held his breath as Belinda traced the face of the silver buckle with her fingertips. It was as though he could actually feel her touching his skin. He wanted her hand lower. His body was doing a helluva good job of imagining all by itself.

He cleared his throat, distracting her attention. “How about you? What did you want to be?”

“I never let myself dream. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

She draped a chain of flowers around the brim of his Stetson. “My sisters and I were orphaned when my parents were killed in a car accident. I was eighteen and had just graduated high school. Dori and Tillie and Fiona were still in school. The ranch went to the bank for debts. I found a job in Casper that paid enough to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. That didn’t leave much time for dreaming.”

“Let’s pretend you’re a real princess, and you can have anything you want. What would you wish for?” Faron asked. He laid a handful of flowers he had broken off just below the bud in her lap.

She scooped up the white, yellow and blue flowers and lifted them to her nose to see how they smelled. “I’d wish for a man to love me. And for children. I’ve always wanted to have children.”

“How many children?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“More than one,” she said definitely. “I liked having sisters. I grew up knowing I never had to be alone.”

“Do your sisters live close?”

“Unfortunately they’re scattered across the country. Every Fourth of July we get together. That’s the only time everyone can get free.”

Which meant she spent the rest of the year alone, Faron deduced.

Her lashes fluttered down to conceal her eyes. “You’re not wearing a ring. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“But you’ve had lots of them, I suspect.”

Faron eyed her askance. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re awfully charming, for one thing.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

She smiled. “I do. For another thing, you don’t seem in any hurry to…” Her cheeks felt warm. “I don’t know exactly how to say this.”

“Jump your bones?”

Her flush deepened. “Well, I wouldn’t have said it quite that way, but—”

“The afternoon isn’t over yet.”

She swallowed hard. “Then I’m not safe with you?”

“As safe as you want to be,” he said in a husky voice.

His eyes were more green than gray as they sought hers. Belinda was aware of a frisson of desire that began in her belly and spiraled upward. She could feel herself being drawn to him. She had already begun to lean toward him when she realized what she was doing. She jumped abruptly to her feet, scattering flowers around her. “It’s getting late. I have to go.”

She had already started toward her horse when he caught up to her and grasped her arm, stopping her. “Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?”

Belinda looked at the sun lowering in the western sky. Why, several hours must have passed! Where had the time gone? The Cowboy had cast some sort of spell on her to make her forget who—and what—she was. She would be lucky to get back to The Castle before suppertime. Madelyn would worry if she wasn’t home by then. “I have to leave. Really, this has been lovely, but I have to go.”

“Where do you live? When can I see you again?”

“You can’t!” She hadn’t meant to be curt, but she couldn’t bear to see the look in his eyes if he ever found out she was a widow, a woman who should be in mourning. “You can’t,” she said more calmly, but just as firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because…please don’t ask me to explain.”

“All right.”

Belinda breathed a sigh of relief. It turned out to be premature.

“I’ll settle for a goodbye kiss.”

“What?”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue about it, simply pulled her into his arms and captured her mouth with his.

The Cowboy’s kiss was like nothing Belinda had ever experienced before in her life. He tunneled all ten fingers into her hair. His lips softened on hers, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth to tease and to taste. For a moment she was quiescent. Then she kissed him back.

Faron hadn’t known what to expect when he kissed his Princess. He had supposed from her shyness that he would be tasting innocence. For a few moments he had. But she had pulled him down to a deeper, darker well of desire than he had ever explored with a woman. A well where feelings and emotions were intimately bound with the physical act of love.

He lifted his head far enough to look into her eyes. “Princess?”

Belinda gazed up into gray-green orbs that were fierce with need. She reached up to touch the beauty mark on the Cowboy’s cheek, then trailed her fingertips back down to his mouth, which was still wet from their kiss. She traced his lips with her forefinger, then looked up into eyes that had darkened with desire. She raised her mouth and touched it lightly to his. Then her tongue slipped inside his mouth to taste him.

She could feel the restraint he exercised to remain still for her kiss. It made her dare more. Her hands slipped around his neck and her fingertips teased the hair at his nape. She kissed the edges of his mouth and lingered to nip at his lower lip with her teeth. A harsh sound grated deep in the Cowboy’s throat, and Belinda found herself answering with a kittenish purr of satisfaction.

He kissed his way along the edge of her jaw to her ear and caressed the delicate shell with his tongue. His breath was hot and moist and sent a shiver down her spine. Then his tongue slipped into her ear, and her belly curled with erotic sensation.

Belinda’s eyes closed in surrender as her body swayed toward his. The Cowboy’s arms closed around her, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the blunt ridge of his manhood against her femininity. As he rocked their bodies together, Belinda felt her knees give way.

The two of them slipped to the ground together. Belinda was aware of the cool grass beneath her, but it was the warmth above that she found so intriguing. The Cowboy held most of his weight on his arms, but their bodies were pressed together from the waist down, their legs entwined. His mouth found hers again, and this time he was more impatient.

One yank ripped the first three buttons on her shirt free. His mouth was reverent as he kissed the creamy mounds that spilled out of her lacy bra. He freed the bra itself, and his mouth latched on to a rosy crest. When he began to suck, Belinda’s whole body arched up into his.

She was desperate to touch his skin, and she pulled at his shirt to free it from his jeans. She tried to unbutton the buttons, but her hands were trembling too much. The Cowboy ripped the shirt off himself, sending buttons flying. Then he pressed their bodies together, flesh to flesh. Belinda made a soft little sound in her throat as the crisp hair on his chest brushed her tender nipples.

“Princess, you feel so good. You feel so right.” His hand slid down to unsnap her jeans. The rasp of her zipper coming down sounded loud in her ears. Before she could come to her senses his mouth had captured her breast again. The Cowboy sucked and nipped and sucked again so the sensual tension never let up.

His hand slid down inside her panties, through her feminine curls until he found the tender bud he sought. Belinda nearly came up off the ground as his fingers began to work their magic.

“Come apart for me, Princess,” Faron crooned. “Be beautiful for me, only me.”

He shoved her jeans down out of the way and unfastened his own. Belinda caught his face with both hands and brought his mouth up to hers.

“Kiss me, Cowboy. Please, kiss me.”

She felt his body invade hers at the same time his tongue thrust into her mouth. He was big and hard, and her body arched up to take all of him as he thrust deeply inside her. Belinda heard an animal sound rip from her throat as their bodies surged together. He withdrew and thrust again in ageless rhythm as her hips rose in counterpoint to his.

Her fingernails dug crescents in his shoulders as her body arched up in passion. At the last instant, Belinda tried to fight the pleasure. This shouldn’t be happening! She had no right!

But the Cowboy wouldn’t allow her to withdraw. “Come with me, Princess. Come with me!”

Then it was too late. Her body began to convulse in wave after wave of unbearable pleasure. She gritted her teeth against the ecstasy that besieged her, holding her prisoner for timeless moments. While she was caught in the throes of passion, the Cowboy claimed her for his own. His cries were guttural as his body arched and spilled its seed within her.

Afterward, they both lay exhausted, unable to move. Belinda was aware of a fine sheen of sweat on his body and the musky smell of sex.

“I want to see you again,” the Cowboy murmured as he slipped to her side and drew her into his arms. He was already asleep before Belinda could answer him.

Which was just as well.

Belinda was appalled at what she had done. But she couldn’t regret it. What had passed between the Cowboy and his Princess was one brief shining moment when two souls blended into one. They might be strangers still, but they had found something more than physical satisfaction in each other’s arms. She would hold this magical afternoon close to her heart forever.

But there was no way she could see him again. He would be horrified if he knew the truth about her. And she would be ashamed for him to find out. She had to escape now, while he was asleep.

She dressed quickly and quietly and led her palomino a short distance away before she mounted him, so that she wouldn’t wake the Cowboy. When she was far enough away that the sound wouldn’t waken him, she kicked the mare into a gallop and raced back to The Castle.

The instant she stepped inside the kitchen door, she was greeted by her mother-in-law. Belinda plowed a hand through her hair, shoving it off her face, and tried a smile. It failed dismally.

“You’re late,” Madelyn said. She took one look at Belinda’s disheveled appearance and asked, “What happened to you?” There was more curiosity than accusation in her tone.

“I…my horse threw me,” Belinda said, brushing at the grass stains on her jeans.

“Your blouse is ripped. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Belinda flushed and clutched at the torn fabric. Getting thrown shouldn’t have torn three buttons off her blouse. “I’ll just run upstairs and change for supper.” She hurried from the kitchen and practically ran up the majestic circular staircase that led to her bedroom.

“There’s no hurry,” Madelyn murmured to Belinda’s disappearing back. There would be plenty of time before supper to ask about the love-bruise on her daughter-in-law’s neck.