Читать книгу Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth - Joan Johnston - Страница 9

FARON WAS ASTOUNDED AT HOW MUCH Belinda knew about the business affairs of King’s Castle. Unfortunately, the more he learned from her, the more grim-lipped he became. Because things were every bit as bad as she had suggested they were.

“I don’t know how you’ve kept the bank from foreclosing before now,” he muttered when he was done examining his father’s records.

“Can anything be done to save King’s Castle?”

Faron felt his gut tighten as he met Belinda’s expectant gaze across the width of the oak rolltop desk in Wayne’s study. Even now he wanted her. This morning her golden hair was confined in a single tail that fell over her shoulder, and she was wearing a Western shirt, jeans and boots. She reminded him much too much of his prairie Princess.

He leashed his memories of the previous day and concentrated on the matter at hand. “We can’t do it alone,” he said. “We’ll have to hire some help.”

Belinda wiped her palms down the length of her jeans, unaware of the way Faron’s gray-green eyes followed her gesture. “I don’t have money for that.”

“I do.”

Belinda frowned. “I can’t let you spend your money.”

“You can’t stop me,” Faron retorted. “According to my father’s will I own half of King’s Castle. If something isn’t done, the bank is going to take my inheritance. It’s no skin off your nose if I invest my money to save my half of this place.”

Belinda’s lip curled in a wry smile. “You’ll also be saving my half,” she pointed out.

“I don’t want to see my grandmother put out in the street.”

Belinda’s smile twisted into something more cynical. “And you have to save me to save her, is that it?”

“Something like that.”

“Where do we start?” Belinda asked.

Faron arched a disdainful brow. “We?”

“I presume you have some plan in mind. Things that have to be done. I want to help.”

“What is it you think you can do?” Faron asked. He preferred to keep her—and temptation—as far from him as possible.

Belinda’s chin came up pugnaciously. “What do you need done?”

Faron tried to think of something that would impress upon his stepmother—he had to keep reminding himself how Belinda had deceived him about her identity—how very much work was involved in restoring King’s Castle to its former greatness.

Not one, but several ideas caught his fancy. He reached out and grabbed Belinda’s hand and pulled her after him. “Come with me. I want to start with a tour of the ranch, so I can get some idea of what needs to be done.” He only got as far as the back porch before he stopped and asked, “Are there enough roads to get us where we need to go, or should we do this survey on horseback?”

Belinda wasn’t sure which was worse. Spending half the day on horseback together would remind them both of the events of the previous day. But if she said they ought to drive, she would have to endure an hour or more confined with him in the cab of a pickup truck. The pickup seemed the lesser of two evils.

“It would be faster and more efficient to drive,” she said. “But the only pickup I have isn’t in very good mechanical shape.”

Faron grimaced at this reminder of the state of poverty in which his father had left his stepmother and grandmother. “We’ll take my truck. Just give me a minute to disconnect the horse trailer,” he replied.

It was strange seeing King’s Castle through Faron’s eyes. The splendor of the land, which Belinda had taken for granted, he found not only pleasing to the eye, but a definite economic asset.

“The land itself is a selling point,” he explained to her. “It hasn’t been overdeveloped. The grass is tall and there’s lots of it.”

She headed him in the direction of the small herd of Herefords that still roamed King’s Castle.

“I see you’re using a windmill for water,” he said as he pulled the truck to a stop beside the windmill tank.

Faron got out of the truck and headed for the windmill, and Belinda followed after him. He leaned his head back and watched and listened as the wind pushed the windmill around.

“It’s not running right,” he said at last. “You’ve got a bolt or two loose up top that ought to be tightened.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Who would you suggest I send up there to tighten them. Myself? Or Toby?”

Faron recalled the stature of the stocky cowhand, then gave Belinda a looking over that had a blush skating up her throat. “I guess you,” he said at last in a taunting voice.

Belinda’s eyes went wide. Was he serious? But if he thought she would back off from such a chore, he had another think coming. “All right,” she said, pushing her sleeves up out of the way. “What is it you want me to do?”

Faron pursed his lips in chagrin. He had been certain she would defer the job to him. Now he found himself in the awkward position of having to admit that he had been manipulating the situation. He certainly didn’t expect a woman to do the kind of dangerous repair job that was necessary.

He opened his mouth to tell her so and shut it again. The challenging look in her violet eyes dared him to admit he was wrong. Before he conceded the issue, Faron decided to see just how far she was willing to go.

He left Belinda and crossed to the back of his pickup where he kept a tool chest. He rattled around in it for a few moments and came back with a wrench.

“I think this is the tool you’ll need.”

Belinda took the wrench from him, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with it. What she was thinking must have shown in her face, because he stepped up beside her and showed her how to adjust it.

“This way tightens it, this way loosens it. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Belinda stared at the thin metal ladder that was attached to the windmill. Her eyes followed it what seemed an immense distance into the air. She swallowed and said, “No. I’m not afraid of heights.”

“What you’re looking for is the bolt that attaches the wheel. Right now the wheel isn’t at the correct angle to the yaw axis in the vane.”

“What?” Belinda hadn’t the vaguest notion what he was talking about.

“You do understand how a windmill works, don’t you?”

Belinda wrinkled her nose. “Sort of. I understand the principle of the thing, but not exactly how the pieces fit together.”

“Maybe you’d better let me do this.” Faron waited for her to concede that he was the one better equipped to handle this job. He had underestimated her stubbornness.

“I can do it,” she insisted. “If you’ll just explain what it is I have to do.”

“That’s a little difficult without having the windmill down here where I can point things out,” Faron said.

Belinda looked at the ladder. No way could both of them go up it together. “Let me try,” she said at last. “If I can’t fix it, then you can do the job.”

Faron was amazed, but not amused, by Belinda’s insistence on climbing to the top of the windmill. “Dammit, woman. It’s dangerous to go up there.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I am,” he muttered. Faron wasn’t about to let her endanger her life. “You’ve proved your point,” he said. “You’re willing to do what has to be done. Now give me that wrench, and let me go up and tighten that bolt.”

“I’m not helpless!”

“I never said you were,” Faron retorted. “Now give me the damn wrench!”

Instead, she turned and started up the ladder.

Faron put both arms around her and dragged her back down. Belinda didn’t come without a fight. The wrench fell to the ground in the struggle. She kicked and hit at Faron, but he had her from behind and her efforts to free herself were useless.

At last she slumped in his arms.

“Are you done fighting me?” he asked.

“Let me go.”

“Are you done fighting me?” he repeated.

“Yessss,” she hissed.

Now that he could let her go, Faron realized he didn’t want to. His body was way ahead of his mind. It had long since reacted strongly and certainly to the woman in his arms. Faron felt the weight of her soft breasts resting on his forearm. She smelled of soap and shampoo and woman. His hands slid down until his fingertips lay at the base of her belly.

“Faron.”

Belinda bit her lip to keep from saying more than Faron’s name. Oh, God, she wanted him! She wanted to lie with him, to merge their bodies, to join their souls. But she was not so far gone with desire that she couldn’t see the folly of repeating what had happened the previous day.

Belinda covered the male hand on her belly with her own. “We can’t do this, Faron. Please. Your father—”

His whole body stiffened. A moment later she was free.

Belinda was afraid to turn around and face him. When she did, she wished she hadn’t. There was an awful look of disgust and disdain on his face. The gray-green eyes she had found so fascinating yesterday were slicing shards of cut green glass today.

She stooped to pick up the wrench, thus avoiding his piercing gaze. When she rose, she kept her lashes lowered. She held out the wrench, and he took it from her, careful not to touch her hand. Soon after, he was halfway up the ladder.

“Be careful,” she whispered. She shaded her eyes from the sun and watched as Faron made his way to the top of the windmill. It didn’t take him long to do what he had to do, but Belinda hardly breathed the whole time he was working. He hadn’t been kidding about the danger of the job. A fall from that height would break a man in pieces.

When Faron came down the ladder she stayed out of his way. “All finished?”

“That’s all I can do right now,” he said. “There’s a part missing. I’ll have to get a replacement.”

“Will it cost much?”

“Always thinking about money, Princess?”

“Don’t call me that! Not like that!”

“Why not? That’s what you are. A pampered, golden Princess. Living off an older man’s money—”

“Stop! Stop!” Belinda put her hands to her ears. “How can you be so cruel?”

“Cruel? Princess, I don’t hold a candle to you!”

Faron stalked back to the truck. He was furious with himself for losing his temper, for taking out his sexual frustration in such a—yes, cruel—way. He hadn’t realized he was capable of that sort of behavior with a woman. Before Belinda…Hell, that was a lifetime ago. Before Belinda he had been Faron Whitelaw, happily oblivious to the fact he was Wayne Prescott’s son. Before Belinda he had known who he was. Now, everything was so damn confused!

“Get in the truck,” he said.

“I’d rather walk back to The Castle than get in that truck with you,” Belinda snapped back.

“Listen, Princess. Either you get in that truck under your own steam, or I’m going to pick you up and put you there.”

Given that choice, Belinda stomped over to the pickup and got in. He stepped in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. The wheels sent dust flying as they headed down the road.

There was a long silence while both of them fumed. At last Belinda said, “I don’t think this is going to work. I think maybe I’ll just let the bank take back the ranch. I’ll go to work somewhere in town to support myself and Madelyn.”

“Doing what?” Faron demanded.

Belinda shrugged. “I used to be a short order cook. I could—”

Faron snorted. “Princesses don’t flip hamburgers. Besides, you may be willing to give up your half of this place, but I’m not about to give up my half.”

“Now who’s thinking about money?” Belinda goaded.

“It’s not the money,” Faron gritted out. He kept his hands on the wheel and forced himself not to put his foot down on the accelerator. “Oh, hell. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Just get the idea of giving this place away out of your head. I’m here and I’m staying until King’s Castle is sold. Now, if you’re through pouting, maybe you’d like to tell me what else I ought to take a look at.”

That was just the beginning of a very long day.

Belinda had put in a lot of hours over the past few years holding King’s Castle together, but she had never worked so long or so hard without a rest. She marveled at Faron’s energy, at his strength, at his tirelessness. But no matter how many jobs he threw at her, she was determined not to be the one who cried mercy first.

It was nearly dusk when he decided they should clean out the tack room in the barn. The small, windowless room that held saddles, bridles and other leather tack was dark and cool. Belinda pulled a string that lit a single bare bulb hanging overhead. She was assaulted by the pungent smells of leather and horses and, once Faron stepped into the room behind her, hardworking man.

“Some of this leather could use a soaping,” Faron said as he walked around the room checking stirrups and reins.

“There hasn’t been much time—”

“We’ll start now.”

“No.”

It was the first time since the incident at the windmill that Belinda had objected to anything Faron had suggested. He had been expecting her to quit long before now and head back to the house. She had amazed him with her fortitude. And slowly but surely driven him crazy with her presence.

His body had tightened as he watched her lick off a fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip that he knew would be salty to the taste. As he watched her stoop and bend and lean in jeans that hugged her rear end like a man’s hand. As he watched her cant her head and lift that golden hair up off her neck so the ever-present breeze could cool her, whipping tiny curls across petal-soft skin.

He should be glad she had finally given up, glad she would be out of his hair at long last. Perversely, he said the one thing he believed would provoke her into staying.

“Conceding the battle, Princess?”

Her violet eyes flashed with anger. “I won’t dignify that comment with an argument. I’m going to get cleaned up for supper. We can start here tomorrow morning.”

When Belinda tried to leave the room, Faron spread his arms and rested his palms on either side of the doorway, blocking the way out.

“Please get out of the way,” she said in a controlled voice. “I want to leave.”

“You surprised me today.”

She arched a brow but said nothing.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to keep up all day.”

She still said nothing.

“I was wrong.”

As an apology it lacked a lot. But it was as much of a concession as Faron was willing to make. “There’s something I don’t understand,” he said.

“What?”

“Why would someone who’s willing to work as hard as you have today marry a man twice her age for his money? It doesn’t fit.”

Belinda’s face paled. “It doesn’t have to. I don’t owe you any explanation. Now let me pass.” She wouldn’t discuss her marriage to Wayne with Wayne’s son. She wouldn’t.

When Faron saw she had no intention of answering, he took his weight off his palms and leaned back against the door frame, his legs widespread. She could get out, but not without touching him.

Belinda kept her eyes lowered as she tried to skim past him. She had to turn sideways, and the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. She gasped at her body’s reaction to even that brief contact.

Faron’s response was powerful and instantaneous. Before Belinda could get past him, he clamped his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. His arms folded around her, and he drew her close.

“Faron, don’t!”

“Do you think I want to feel like this?” he rasped in her ear. “It’s driving me crazy, knowing how your skin tastes, knowing what it feels like to be inside you—and knowing that you were my father’s wife!”

Belinda pushed at his chest with the heels of her hands. “Let me go, Faron! This is wrong!”

“You didn’t think so yesterday.”

“I told you, I didn’t know who you were yesterday! This situation is awkward enough. Let’s not make it worse.”

He nuzzled her temple, let his lips trail down to her ear and felt her shiver in his arms. “And this will make it worse?”

Belinda exhaled a shuddery sigh. “What happened between us was—”

“A miracle.”

“A mistake. Faron, we can’t let this happen again.”

Faron heard the desperation in her voice. He felt the same desperation himself. However, he could afford to be patient. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Neither was she.

He dropped his hands to his sides and stood up straight so there was more space between them. “Call me when supper’s ready.”

She didn’t answer him, just made her escape as quickly as she could. Belinda didn’t run back to the house, although it took all her willpower to keep her pace to a walk.

How had things gotten out of hand so quickly? She should have known better than to let herself get cornered like that. But she hadn’t been expecting Faron to confront her. She hadn’t been expecting him to admit that he still desired her.

But she had been right to push him away. There could be no repetition of what had happened yesterday. Under the circumstances it was unthinkable.

Belinda stepped up on the back porch and shoved her way through the screen door that led to the kitchen. In some ways, The Castle was like any other ranch house. Friends and neighbors always entered through the back door which was usually left open, rather than the front. She stopped dead when she saw Madelyn standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of chili.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked.

Madelyn lifted a spoonful of chili and sipped a taste of it. “Making supper.”

“Where’s Rue?”

“She’s having one of her spells.”

That was Madelyn’s way of saying Rue was drunk. Once a year, on the anniversary of her son’s death in Vietnam, Rue got drunk. How long the “episode” lasted depended on how good a job Belinda did of finding Rue’s stash of bottles and disposing of it. “I thought we’d gotten rid of all the bottles.”

“She must have had another tucked away somewhere.”

Belinda came up behind Madelyn and put a hand around her shoulder. “You should be resting.”

“There’ll be time enough for that when I’m laid in my grave.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that!” Before Wayne’s death, Belinda hadn’t been quite so aware of Madelyn’s mortality. Now she worried about the older woman’s health. Madelyn’s heart wasn’t in much better shape than Wayne’s had been.

Madelyn turned and patted Belinda on the arm. “I’m sorry, dear. Why don’t you sit down and tell me how the day went with my grandson?”

That brought a wry smile to Belinda’s face. “I’ll make a deal. You sit down, and I’ll tell you how the day went.”

Madelyn handed over the wooden spoon and took a seat on a bar stool next to the woodblock island in the center of the kitchen. “I’m sitting. Talk.”

Belinda turned away to stir the chili, which gave her a chance to organize her thoughts. There was no hope for her feelings, which were still in a state of chaos. “He’s a hard worker,” Belinda conceded.

“Then you two should have gotten along well,” Madelyn said.

Belinda shot Madelyn a look over her shoulder. She was a shrewd old woman. Belinda wondered how much Madelyn knew—or suspected—about the tension between her daughter-in-law and her grandson. “We didn’t argue much, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Only at the very beginning and the very end of the day. “Faron has his own way of doing things. I just went along with him.”

“Go along and get along. That didn’t work very well with Wayne, my dear.”

“Faron is nothing like Wayne!” Belinda astonished herself with her outburst. She flushed and tried to backtrack by saying, “I mean, they look nothing alike.”

“And they don’t act alike, either. Is that what you wanted to say?”

“I don’t intend to criticize my late husband to his mother,” Belinda said.

Madelyn sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m well aware of my son’s faults. I hope you won’t let what happened between you and Wayne keep you from finding another young man to love.”

Belinda dropped the spoon in the chili and turned to face Madelyn. “I hope you’re not thinking about matchmaking, Madelyn. Not matching me with Faron, anyway. For heaven’s sake, he’s Wayne’s son!”

“And quite a good-looking young man, if I do say so myself.”

“Please, Madelyn. Don’t interfere. Things are difficult enough as it is.”

“Difficult? How so?”

Belinda grimaced. She should have known Madelyn wouldn’t be satisfied without specifics. But she wasn’t going to get them. “We just don’t get along.”

“It didn’t look that way to me last night.”

The old woman saw too much. Belinda took a deep breath and let it out. “Suffice it to say that I don’t want to get involved with anyone right now.”

Madelyn was wise enough to know when to let well enough alone. She had said her piece. Not that she wouldn’t consider a little manipulating behind the scenes. She would have a talk with her grandson and see which way the wind was blowing.

When the table was set and the corn muffins were just about ready to come out of the oven, Belinda stepped out onto the back porch and circled the triangle hanging from the eave several times with an iron rod. The metallic clang was a sound that cowboys recognized all over the West as a call to supper.

Sure enough, Faron’s head and shoulders appeared at the barn door, followed quickly by the rest of him. Belinda knew she should turn around and go back inside, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

His stride was long and his body moved with an easy grace. His face was hidden by the hat he had pulled down low on his brow. His shirtsleeves were rolled up onto his forearms and she could see the muscles move as he swung his arms in rhythm with his legs. He was almost to the porch by the time she realized he was aware that she had been staring at him.

He stopped with his boot on the first step and tipped his hat back so she could see his face. He was grinning.

“See anything you like?”

“Oh!” She whirled and headed for the door, but she didn’t get two steps before he caught her arm and pulled her back around to face him.

“I wasn’t complaining. In fact, I’m flattered. I can’t keep my eyes off you, either.”

“Faron—”

He laid two fingers across her mouth to silence her. His voice was gruff when he spoke again. “You’d better be careful how you look at me with those violet eyes of yours, Princess. I’ve got myself on a short tether. Don’t you go untying any knots.”

His fingers slid across her mouth to her cheek, and then tunneled up into her hair. Belinda found herself caught by Faron’s green-eyed gaze. It was a powerful force, the desire in a man’s eyes. It made a woman want to give herself up to him. Belinda felt her knees growing weak—nature’s method of getting a woman down so a man could couple with her more easily. She was having trouble catching her breath, and her mouth dropped open slightly for more air.

Faron saw it differently. He perceived her open mouth as an irresistible invitation. Faron had always liked parties, and he never turned one down. He didn’t now.

His head lowered slowly, and his lips parted slightly to match hers. He paused just before their mouths made contact and took a breath. Belinda felt as though he were stealing the breath right out of her. A soft moan sounded deep in her throat.

His lips were pliant against hers. And urgent. She felt his need as his tongue came searching hungrily for sustenance only she could provide. Her hands seemed to have a will of their own. They latched on to his shirt at the waist, then slid up behind his back and threaded into the curls at his nape.

She could feel the dampness where his hair was soaked with sweat. He smelled of hardworking man, a pungent odor, but one that made her think of his muscles bunching beneath cloth as he hefted a bale of hay. His body was hard where he had it pressed against her hips, and his mouth was hot and demanding on hers.

Belinda didn’t want to feel so much. Didn’t want to need so much. She felt the trap closing on her and at the last minute realized that she must escape. She yanked hard on Faron’s hair, and when he howled in pain she let go and backed away as quickly as she could.

“No,” she said. “We’re not going to do this.”

His eyes were feral, his body taut with need. He could still take her if he wanted to. Her aroused, aching body cried out for fulfillment. She saw him hesitate, torn between taking what he wanted or letting her go.

He whirled abruptly and headed for the sink on the back porch. He turned on the cold water full blast, yanked off his hat and threw it down, then stuck his head under the spigot. She stared as he cooled the back of his neck with the icy water. Then he stood and slung his wet hair back. His hands forked through the tangled black curls, setting them in some kind of order. Then he picked up his hat and settled it back on his head.

Water still dripped from his nose and chin and clumped on his eyelashes. But no signs of passion remained when he looked at her again. “You’ve got some supper ready for me, I believe.”

“Yes. I—Yes.” She turned and hurried inside, letting the screen door slam behind her. A moment later she heard it creak as he opened it and followed her inside.

Belinda could hardly believe the gentleman who exchanged witticisms with Madelyn at dinner was the same cowboy who had kissed her senseless on the back porch. Faron was absolutely charming. She could see he was good for Madelyn. He made the old woman laugh and even blush once. Asking him to leave was out of the question, even though it was what Belinda desperately wanted to do.

She urged Faron and Madelyn to stay in the dining room and talk while she cleared the table and washed the dishes. But she could hear everything they said through the open door to the kitchen. She cringed when she heard Madelyn ask whether Faron had ever been married.

“No,” he answered.

“Why not?” Madelyn asked.

“Never found the right woman, I guess.”

“What is it, exactly, you’re looking for?”

There was a long pause before he answered, “I’ll know her when I find her.”

Belinda smiled. Maybe Madelyn had met her match. Faron Whitelaw wasn’t the kind of man who could be manipulated. But she should have known her mother-in-law wouldn’t easily abandon her matchmaking efforts. Madelyn’s next question left Belinda gasping.

“How do you like Belinda?”

“She’s a hard worker.”

Madelyn chuckled. “She said the same thing about you. I suppose that’s one thing you both have in common. I wonder if there are any others.”

Again, that long pause.

“I admit I thought Belinda was, well, a little more pampered than she’s turned out to be.”

“Wayne wasn’t the most considerate of husbands.”

Belinda gritted her teeth. She wasn’t about to let Madelyn start talking about her marriage. She grabbed the apple pie on the counter and marched back through the open doorway. “Dessert, anyone?”

Belinda kept her expression bland, but she had a feeling she wasn’t fooling either of them.

“I love apple pie,” Faron said. “I’ll take a piece. How about you, Maddy?”

Belinda saw the flush rise on Madelyn’s cheeks as Faron turned his smile on her.

“Why, I guess I will join you.”

Faron turned that stunning smile on Belinda, and she felt flustered. She dropped the pie on the table and said, “I’ll go get some plates and the pie knife.

She turned just in time to keep the two of them from seeing the color race up her throat. This situation was unbearable! She had spent so many years learning to control her emotions, learning to keep what she was feeling hidden, because Wayne inevitably used it against her. All that Cowboy had to do was smile at her and she felt young and foolish again.

And desirable.

Lord, Lord, Lord, he made her feel like he wanted to lick her up like an ice cream cone on a hot Sunday afternoon.

Belinda leaned her forehead against the cool tile wall in the kitchen and took a deep breath. Then she scurried to find plates and a pie server before Faron came looking for her.

She could hear voices again from the other room.

“I’d love to play a little gin rummy,” Faron was saying. “Penny a point is fine with me.”

“You sure you wouldn’t mind?” Madelyn asked.

Belinda could hear the worry in the old woman’s voice. Madelyn didn’t like being a burden on anyone. She would know if Faron was lying about spending time with her. Belinda heaved a quiet sigh of relief when she heard Faron reply, “Maddy, there’s nothing I’d like better than skinning you at gin rummy.”

Madelyn giggled. It was a youthful sound and one Belinda couldn’t remember ever hearing from the old woman. Had their lives with Wayne been so very grim? It was hard for Belinda to be objective. But hearing Madelyn tonight with her grandson made Belinda wish that things could have been different with Wayne.

She put a smile on her face as she reentered the dining room. “Did I hear you say you’re going to challenge Madelyn to a game of rummy?” she asked Faron.

“Yes, ma’am. Soon as I finish my pie.”

Belinda served him a piece and set another in front of Madelyn. When she started to leave Faron asked, “Aren’t you going to have some, too?”

“I’m not very hungry right now.” She kept her lids lowered so Faron wouldn’t find out the truth. She wanted to get away now, while she could still think rationally. She didn’t want to see him being nice to his grandmother. She didn’t want to see him being charming. She wanted to remember who he was and who she was and why any relationship between them other than the legal one resulting from her marriage to Faron’s father was a mistake.

“I’m a little tired. I thought I’d go to bed early tonight,” she said.

She was unprepared when Faron left the table and crossed to her. He stood facing her and said in a voice too low to carry back to Madelyn, “Are you all right?”

She felt breathless again. “Yes. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she felt the pressure of it deep in the pit of her belly.

“I made some calls while you were having lunch and hired some men to do the heavy labor. There’s no reason for you to leave the house tomorrow.”

Her eyes flashed up to meet his concerned gaze. “I’ll do my part,” she said.

“You don’t—”

“I don’t want any favors from you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Belinda jerked herself away and marched toward the spiral staircase. She felt Faron’s eyes on her the entire way up to the second floor. When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it.

She felt like crying. Why hadn’t she met Faron Whitelaw eight years ago? It was too late now for what might have been. And what made her think things would be any different with Faron? She had learned her lessons from Wayne. Things had been fine with him, too, at first. It was only later…

But Wayne Prescott had never made her feel the things Faron Whitelaw made her feel. Belinda was frightened. And excited. She felt a sort of anticipation for the days to come that she knew was dangerous for her peace of mind. Worst of all was the knowledge that she desired Faron Whitelaw every bit as much as he seemed to desire her.

She had to resist temptation. She had to make herself a regal, unapproachable Princess. Maybe that would keep the Cowboy at bay.

Belinda lifted her chin and focused her eyes on the distant canopy bed with its delicate eyelet covers. It was a bed eminently fit for a princess who had resigned herself to life in an inaccessible, remote ivory tower.

She crossed the room and sat down on the bed with her back stiff and her teeth clenched to still a quivering chin. She had survived a lot over the past eight years. By God, she would survive this, as well.