Heartland (9 page)

When Mrs. Marston opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand. “Save it. I'm going. I'll take the car. Despite your dire prediction that I'll end up like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
, I think the car should give me some protection.”

The housekeeper rolled her eyes heavenward, but she kept silent as he ran up the stairs.

He didn't stop for a raincoat. His clothes were soaked through by the time he reached the car. The eerie stillness that usually preceded the worst part of this kind of weather system had been replaced by an old-fashioned beauty of a storm.

As he drove along the winding road that led from his house to the entrance to the Danvers' farm, his eyes widened in incredulity. While there had been a few broken branches scattered about his own property, there had been nothing to suggest the devastation he found as he drove past Lara's fields. A wide, tangled path of destruction had been cut through the middle, leaving raw earth and broken stalks in its wake. A mighty oak tree, its trunk three feet or more in diameter, had been twisted from the ground and left sprawling across dangling power lines. Tree limbs and debris were everywhere.

With the road blocked by the fallen tree, Steven pulled onto the shoulder and, being careful of the dangerous electrical wires, left the car and set off on foot.

His heart hammered with fear as he made his way through the destroyed field. Was this where Lara had been working this morning? Had she made it back to the house? Or had she stubbornly refused to take shelter, hoping to salvage one more bushel of corn, before the storm broke around her? He began to run, oblivious to the mud that sucked at his shoes and the rain that pounded down.

As he reached the barn, Logan called out to him.

“Is Lara with you?” Steven called back, his words whipped around by the wind.

“No. I sent her back early. She's probably pacing around the storm cellar.”

Logan paused, as if trying to work up the courage to say something more. He took off his Stetson and fiddled with it, turning it around and around in his weathered hands. Steven found himself growing impatient. Finally, brown eyes filled with dismay turned on him.

“Mr. Drake, I'm worried about how she's gonna take this.” He gestured toward the fields. “She's bound to be mighty upset when she sees what's happened here. She was counting on this harvest.”

The foreman's concern confirmed his own fears. “I know that, Logan. How bad is it?”

“Can't say for sure. I haven't been around the whole place, but from what I seen so far, it looks pretty bad.”

Steven sighed. “That's what I was afraid of. I cut through the northwestern field coming over here. It's like it's been mowed down. I've never seen anything like it.”

Logan shook his head. “I've seen it all too often. It's the kinda thing that near wiped her daddy out more than once.”

Steven heard the genuine affection and anxiety in Logan's voice and patted the older man on the shoulder. “She's going to need your help more than ever now. Why don't I go find her, and we can ride around the fields together and see just how bad this is?”

Logan shoved his hat back on his head and nodded. “I'll be waiting right here, Mr. Drake. Ain't no use hurryin' now.”

Steven walked slowly to the house, every beat of his heart painful. He wrestled with the desire to pack a suitcase, sweep Lara into his arms and whisk her off to some magical place where the problems of the farm would seem far removed and unimportant, but he knew that such a place did not exist. For all that she'd hated it as a girl, for all that it had demanded of her, she loved the farm. She would fight his protective instincts, if that's what it took to save it. He was proud of her gutsy determination, respected her for the way she'd handled tough times. No, she probably wouldn't appreciate his butting in and trying to protect her. All he could do was try to help in any way she'd let him.

When he reached the back door of the house, he called out to her. The shout echoed back to him, but there was no response.

“Lara,” he called again, struck by the faintest sense of unease. There was no sign of her. “Lara!”

Choking back a terrible sense of panic, he found the door to the basement. He threw it open and stared down into pitch darkness. He hunted through kitchen drawers until he found a candle, and when it was lit, he began his descent, heart hammering.

“Lara!”

His call was greeted by a deathly silence. The candle cast flickering light for only a few feet around him. As he moved on, fighting shadows, a hard knot of fear formed in his stomach. He was halfway around the room, when he saw her lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, rain pouring in on her through the broken window.

He was at her side in an instant, his heart in his throat. “Lara,” he said softly. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

When he went to brush the hair from her face, his hand came away sticky with blood. “Oh, my God,” he murmured. “Lara!”

Gently he felt her head, locating the huge bump just over her temple, then the cut along her cheek. She'd apparently been slashed by the broken glass, besides being hit by whatever had flown through the window. He felt for her pulse. It was weak but steady, and the flow of blood from the wound seemed to have slowed. Not wanting to leave her to go in search of a washcloth, he took off his shirt and ripped it, then held a strip of the cloth against the injury.

“Come on, sweetheart, wake up. This is no time to be taking a nap.”

Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks.

“That's the way. You can do it. Wake up for me.”

After what seemed an eternity, her eyes blinked open.

“Steven, is that you?” Lara responded sleepily. She saw the flickering candlelight, then heard his heavy sigh of relief. “Is the storm over?”

“The worst of it is. How do you feel?”

She tried to sit up, winced at the sudden pounding in her head and lay back. She touched her fingers to her temple. “Why does my head hurt?”

“Apparently a branch or something blew in through the window and knocked you out.” She could see the anxiety in his eyes, the tension in his brow.

“You've been crying,” she said, her thumb rubbing gently across the telltale traces on his cheeks. “Are you okay? You aren't hurt, are you?”

He laughed. “No, sweetheart, I'm not the one who's hurt. I almost went crazy, though, when I realized the phone lines were down and I couldn't check on you. Then when I got over here and couldn't find you, it scared the daylights out of me.”

She put her hand over his. “I'm fine.”

“We'll let a doctor be the judge of that.”

“No doctor,” she insisted, forcing herself to sit up. “The headache should go away soon, and I have to see how things are around here. The tornadoes sounded so close. Did they touch down?”

The question was greeted by silence.

“Steven?” She scanned his eyes for the truth he couldn't seem to say. “They did a lot of damage, didn't they? Have you seen Logan?”

“He's fine. He's waiting for you outside.”

“And the fields?” When he didn't respond, she demanded, “Tell me, Steven. I need to know. I'd rather hear it from you before I see for myself.” The pounding in her head intensified. She closed her eyes against the pain, and her hand flew up instinctively to touch the injury.

Steven apparently saw that his silence was only increasing her agitation. The stubborn gleam in his eyes faded. He sighed wearily. “I've only seen one field. It was pretty badly damaged. I don't know about the rest.”

“I have to see.”

“Not yet,” he said. “There's the little matter of your clothes that got soaked in the rain and the bump on your head to consider. I'll make you a deal.”

One eyebrow lifted fractionally. “Yes?”

“We'll go upstairs. I'll check this out in a better light, and then,
if it looks okay
, you can change, and we'll go out and see the farm.”

“Is there an alternative?”

“Sure.” He grinned at her wickedly. “We go straight to the hospital.”

She frowned at him. “I'll take the deal.”

He nodded in satisfaction. “I thought you might.”

The next thing she knew, she was in his arms being carried up the basement stairs. “This is getting to be a habit,” she noted. “Be careful. If I get used to it, you may have to carry me everywhere.”

“It could be arranged,” he said as he settled her into a kitchen chair. “Where is your first-aid kit?”

“There's one in the bathroom cupboard.”

As soon as he was gone, she was tempted to make a run for it, but common sense—and the unrelenting pounding in her head—kept her still. He was back before she could give the matter a second thought.

“I'm surprised,” he said. “I thought you'd be halfway out the door by now.”

“Believe me, I thought about it.”

“What stopped you?”

“Knowing that Logan would just haul me right back in here to you.”

“Sensible girl. Now let me take a look at your head.”

She winced as he washed away the blood.

“Good. Looks like there's no glass in here.” He put a liberal amount of antiseptic on the wound, holding her head still.

“Are you sure you're not enjoying this?” she grumbled, glaring at him. Then she saw her own pain reflected in his eyes. “Sorry.”

His finger trailed lazily down her cheek. “No problem.”

Lara sighed. “I'm scared,” she admitted, her voice shaky. Her heart seemed to weigh more heavily than ever in her chest. She hadn't thought it possible that she could feel this weary, this drained of emotion. How much more could she possibly take? Steven seemed to sense her dismay, because he put aside the first-aid materials and drew her into his arms.

“Whatever it takes, we'll handle this together,” he promised. “You're not alone anymore.”

His words, rather than reassuring her as he meant them to, only convinced her that the damage must be incredibly bad. If that was so, his promise might be the only thing that could keep her going.

Chapter Nine

L
ara's hands were shaking, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she and Steven approached the back door. She gazed up at him in mute appeal. He gave her an encouraging smile and squeezed her hand.

“Together,” he reminded her.

It gave her the strength to open the door and walk outside. And then her heart seemed to stop. Her hand closed urgently on Steven's forearm. The look she gave him was stricken.

All around her was chaos. A screen, apparently ripped from one of the windows—or perhaps even from some other house—lay twisted at the base of a tree. Bits of unidentifiable metal, pieces of farm machinery, no doubt, glinted in the sunlight that was breaking through the clouds. A few broken tree limbs dangled by one last strip of wood, while others had been tossed around like so many pick-up-sticks. The shrubs along one side of the house had been uprooted and were scattered in every direction. Two windows in addition to the one in the basement were in jagged pieces. Debris and dirt clung to the white paint, giving the house an untended appearance. A child's tricycle she'd never seen before was half buried in the mud.

Lara swallowed hard as Logan hurried toward her. His expression grew worried as he spotted her injuries.

“You okay, Ms. Danvers?”

“I'm fine. How are the rest of the men?”

“They're okay. We got everything we could into the barn before the worst of it hit. I've sent 'em on home now to check on their families. They'll be back, though, to help with the cleanup.”

“How'd the cows and horses do?”

“Better ‘n some of the men,” he said with a lopsided grin. “The horses got a little nervous, pranced around in their stalls some. Bessie's got a scrape on her rump from bumping into the side of her stall, but that's the only injury as far as I can tell. You ready to go out and take a look at things?”

She glanced up at Steven, and his grip on her hand tightened. She gave Logan a jaunty smile, determined to make the best of whatever hand fate had dealt her. “Let's do it. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

“Come on then. I've saddled the horses.”

“I'm not sure about riding the horses, Logan,” Steven said. “Not with her head injury.”

“Of course not. I'll get the pickup.”

“We won't be able to get around in the truck,” Lara protested. “There are too many trees down.”

“But—”

“Steven, I'll be okay. If my head starts to bother me, I promise we'll turn back.”

He didn't look pleased, but he gave in.

They began their ride with the northwestern field Steven had seen on his way over. Lara had to choke back a cry of dismay when she saw that very little of the fine, healthy crop was left standing. A mat of twisted green stalks covered the sea of mud. Only a few rows in one corner had survived unscathed.

They rode on. As they guided the horses carefully around the scattered debris and fallen wires, Lara felt her determination begin to flag. It was far worse than she'd anticipated. Not a single field had been left untouched except, ironically, the one they had just harvested. When she saw that, she almost sobbed. It was the cruelest twist of all.

“Can we save any of this?” she asked Logan, her heart heavy, her expression hopeless.

He shoved his hat to the back of his head and regarded her sympathetically. “Hard to say, Ms. Danvers. I suppose it's possible that some of the corn could be replanted, if the roots aren't damaged. No telling if they'll take hold, though. Some of this may be okay for feed. When the men get back, we'll start doing what we can.”

“Thanks, Logan.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose once you've finished cleaning up, we'd better pay the men off and let them go. There's not enough of a crop to justify keeping them till the fall. You and I can handle what there is.”

“I hate to say it, missy, but I think you're right. I'm real sorry, ma'am.”

“Thanks, Logan.”

Steven had remained silent throughout the exchange, but as they rode back to the barn alone, he said, “This is going to make things rough for you, isn't it?”

“It's going to put me back at Mr. Hogan's mercy, if that's what you mean. I have enough to live on and to pay Logan, but I'll probably have to ask for an extension on the loan on the farm, and I'll need to borrow money for next year's seed.” She bit her lip to keep from crying out in frustration as the harsh impact of the tornado's work sank in. She tried to hide her mounting distress with a nonchalant shrug. “Hey, this is just one of the hazards of farming, right? I should be used to it. It happened to my father often enough.”

She swung down from the saddle and straight into Steven's arms. They encircled her waist and held her in place. He gazed at her with piercing intensity. “Don't give me that unconcerned act, Lara. I know this is killing you.”

She glared up at him, wrestling with her emotions. She lost.

“All right,” she exploded suddenly, all of her anger at the injustice of it spilling out. She spun from his embrace. “I hate it! I hate being beholden to the bank again. I hate knowing that no matter how well I run this place year after year, it takes one short storm to destroy it. I hate living on the edge, never being able to get ahead.”

She began pacing so furiously that it made the horses jittery. Finally she stopped and faced Steven again, eyes blazing.

“Do you know I actually had begun to set money aside so I could make you an offer on your land someday? I was so proud of that. I wanted the Danvers' property to be whole again. What's happened here today will take every cent of that savings and more.” She waved her hand in the air in an angry gesture. “Whoosh! A storm blows through and it's all gone. Just like that.”

“You could walk away from it,” Steven said quietly.

Her head snapped around, and she stared at him. “What?”

“I said you could give it all up, end the uncertainty. You could go back to school, become a doctor. That's what Megan and Tommy want for you.”

Her brow knit in a puzzled frown. “You discussed it with them?”

“Only Megan. She's worried about you. She and Tommy only want what's best for you.”

“Is that what you think I should do? Do you think I should give this up and go back to school?”

“I didn't say that. I said it's an option. Have you considered it?”

“No,” she said heatedly, suddenly angry at him and not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was simply that he was pushing her in a direction that had been closed to her for too long. “I gave that idea up years ago. It's too late.”

“I'm not saying it wouldn't be difficult, but it's not too late.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “Think about it, Lara. What is it you really want? Don't waste your life doing something you claim to hate. If you have a different dream, you owe it to yourself to try and make it come true. I understand that for years you had obligations here, but Tommy and Greg are on their own now. The farm is an emotional, physical and financial drain. If you want out, now's the time.”

She looked around and tried to imagine walking away from the farm, giving up the backbreaking work and uncertainty. She couldn't do it. “It's been in my family for generations,” she protested. “I can't just leave it.”

His gaze was unrelenting. “Is that your sense of duty talking or genuine caring?”

Her voice faltered, her determination suddenly less certain. “I... I don't know.”

He tilted her chin up and smiled at her. “Think about it. Okay?”

She nodded, knowing that she would have little peace now that the subject had been raised.

He gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the house. “Now, let's go get this place cleaned up.”

They worked for hours. Steven started by making the repairs to the windows and hosing down the outside of the house, while Lara worked in the yard. A few of the shrubs were straggly but salvageable, and she put them back into place. She hauled limbs into a pile near the barn, planning to chop them later for kindling and firewood. Then she raked the debris into piles to be put into garbage bags and hauled away.

She worked with a savage intensity, needing the strain of her muscles, welcoming the exhaustion that followed. The sun, mocking them now with its brightness, beat down on her shoulders and brought sweat to her brow. At times she paused to watch Steven. The bunching of the muscles in his shoulders, the gleam of perspiration on his bare chest stirred a sharp pang of longing in her heart. She wanted him, needed him to fill this aching emptiness that had settled in her abdomen. Her pulse raced, until finally she had to look away.

By sundown the worst of the damage around the house had been cleared away. She turned the hose on and rinsed the traces of grime off her hands and face. Then she sank down on a bale of hay in the shade. She found a rubber band in her pocket and lifted her hair off of her neck into a cooler ponytail.

“Well, if it isn't Farmer Danvers,” Steven taunted, coming upon her. Blue eyes glittered dangerously as he propped a dusty boot on the bale beside her. “This sight reminds me of something.”

“A Norman Rockwell painting on the virtues of backbreaking labor? Or maybe
American Gothic
?”

“Definitely not
American Gothic
,” he said thoughtfully. “You don't look nearly stoic enough for that.”

“Then what?” she asked, her mood lifting under his gentle teasing.

“It reminds me of the way you looked that night at the stream, the night we made love for the first time.” He leaned forward and ran a finger lazily along the line of her jaw as his gaze captured hers and held. “Want to go swimming?”

Lara's breath caught in her throat. Teasing shifted to a thrilling new tension. Excitement strummed across taut nerves.

“Now?” Her voice came out as a husky whisper.

Steven nodded.

Without tearing her gaze away from his, Lara held out her hand. He took it, and they headed toward the stream. With her heart thudding more wildly with each passing second, Lara thought the walk would take forever. She was hardly aware of the fallen trees and scattered branches they passed. Every nerve in her body was vibrantly attuned to the man next to her. After everything that had happened today, after all the pain she had suffered, he was still capable of reaching her heart and making it whole.

Dusk was falling as they reached the stream, and in the dim light she watched as he reached for the buttons of her blouse. His tanned fingers, the tips rougher than usual from the work they'd done, skimmed along her already burning flesh as her shirt fell open. He traced a line from the base of her throat down the delicate valley between her breasts over her ribs and on to the waistband of her jeans. Where he touched, she burned, and the rest of her skin suffered the sweet agony of waiting for his caress.

He took the band from her hair, lifting its golden weight until it settled in a cloud around her shoulders. With the gentlest of touches, he brushed back the curls that had wisped about her face.

And all the while he loved her with his eyes. Burning, sapphire-bright eyes that spoke of desire.

“You are so very beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “So very desirable. You can't imagine how many times I've thought of that night, of you here. I want you just as much now as I did then.”

The past came back to her in a rush of vivid sensations. This was the way it had been for them before, yet different. The passion burned every bit as brightly, the hunger mounted with as much demand, but the climax that was rushing at them with a sense of wild abandon carried with it the knowledge that they had endured. They had overcome feelings of betrayal, separation and loneliness and found that nothing was as strong as their love for each other.

When Steven's name was torn from her lips, a hoarse cry in the night's stillness, Lara knew an instant's terror that caution could be overcome so easily. Then ecstasy followed, and the doubts were no more.

When she could find the breath to speak, Lara murmured, “We should go back. It's getting cool.”

“And I'm starving,” Steven admitted with a rueful laugh. “Much as I would like to stay right here and pretend the boundaries of our world go no farther, I think you're right. We should go back.”

Once the decision was regretfully made, they hurried into their clothes and strolled back to the farmhouse. In the kitchen they worked in companionable silence, stopping only for stolen kisses as they chopped vegetables and grated cheese for omelets.

“We have biscuits, too,” Lara announced, pulling out the package of homemade biscuits Megan had left for her in the freezer.

“The only thing missing is wine,” Steven said, looking with satisfaction at the amassed ingredients for their dinner.

Lara protested. “Wine's the last thing I need. I'll fall asleep in my plate.”

“That wouldn't be such a bad thing. You're exhausted. You need a good night's rest. Why don't I run home and get the wine?”

“Steven, really. I don't need it. A huge glass of iced tea will be terrific.”

“Okay,” he relented. “Tonight your every wish is my command.” His hand rested at the base of her spine, and he turned her until he could drop a kiss on her lips. Lara felt her senses stir again, just from that simple gesture.

“You'd better not distract me,” she warned. “Or you really will starve to death.”

Forcing her attention back to the stove, she sautéed the vegetables, then added them to the eggs. In no time the food was on the table, and even more quickly it was gone.

“That's ridiculous,” she said with a laugh, looking around at the empty plates. “There's not even a crumb left, and we ate as though we were afraid someone would come in here and steal it away from us.”