Heartbreaker (13 page)

A shaky bubble of laughter escaped her
trembling lips. The way things were going, the phone service would be
disconnected soon because she couldn't pay her bill. That would certainly take
care of the problem; Roger couldn't call if she didn't have a telephone. Maybe being
broke had some advantages after all.

She didn't know what she'd do if Roger came
down here personally to take her back to
Philadelphia
where she "belonged." If she'd ever
"belonged" any one place, it was here, because John was here. Maybe
she couldn't go to the symphony, or go skiing in
Switzerland
, or shopping in
Paris
. It didn't matter now and hadn't mattered then. All
those things were nice, but unimportant. Paying bills was important. Taking
care of the cattle was important.

Roger was capable of anything. Part of him
was so civilized that it was truly difficult to believe he could be violent
People who'd known him all his life thought he was one of the nicest men
walking the face of the earth. And he could be, but there was another part of
him that flew into insanely jealous rages.

If he came down here, if she had to see him
again…if he touched her in even the smallest way…she knew she
couldn't handle it

The last time had been the worst

His parents had been in
Europe
.
Roger had accepted an invitation for them to attend a dinner party with a few
of his business associates and clients. Michelle had been extremely careful all
during the evening not to say or do anything that could be considered
flirtatious, but it hadn't been enough. On the way home, Roger had started the
familiar catechism:

She'd smiled a lot at Mr. So-and-So; had he
propositioned her? He had, hadn't he? Why didn't she just admit it? He'd seen
the looks passing between them.

By the time they'd arrived home, Michelle had
been braced to run, if necessary, but Roger had settled down in the den to
brood. She'd gone to bed, so worn out from mingled tension and relief that
she'd drifted to sleep almost immediately.

Then, suddenly, the light had gone on and
he'd been there, his face twisted with rage as he yelled at her. Terrified,
screaming, stunned by being jerked from a sound sleep, she'd fought him when he
jerked her half off the bed and began tearing at her nightgown, but she'd been
helpless against him. He'd stripped the gown away and begun lashing at her with
his belt, the buckle biting into her flesh again and again.

By the time he'd quit, she had been covered
with raw welts and a multitude of small, bleeding cuts from the buckle, and
she'd screamed so much she could no longer make a sound. Her eyes had been
almost swollen shut from crying. She could still remember the silence as he'd
stood there by the bed, breathing hard as he looked down at her. Then he'd fallen
on his knees, burying his face in her tangled hair. "I love you so
much," he'd said.

That night, while he'd slept, she had crept
out and taken a cab to a hospital emergency room. Two years had passed, but the
small white scars were still visible on her back, buttocks and upper thighs.
They would fade with time, becoming impossible to see, but the scar left on her
mind by the sheer terror of that night hadn't faded at all. The demons she
feared all wore Roger's face.

But now she couldn't ran from him; she had no
other place to go, no other place where she wanted to be. She was legally free
of him now, and there was nothing he could do to make her return. Legally she
could stop him from calling her. He was harassing her; she could get a court
order prohibiting him from contacting her in any way.

But she wouldn't, unless he forced her to it.
She opened her eyes and stared at herself again. Oh, it was classic. A
counselor at the hospital had even talked with her about it. She didn't want
anyone to know her husband had abused her; it would be humiliating, as if it
were somehow her fault. She didn't want people to pity her, she didn't want
them to talk about her, and she especially didn't want John to know. It was too
ugly, and she felt ashamed.

Suddenly she felt the walls closing in on
her, stifling her. She had to get out and
do
something, or she might
begin crying, and she didn't want that to happen. If she started crying now,
she wouldn't be able to stop.

She got in the old truck and drove around the
pastures, looking at the new sections of fence John's men had put up. They had
finished and returned to their regular chores. Tomorrow they'd ride over on
horseback and move the herd to this pasture with its high, thick growth of
grass. The cattle could get their fill without walking so much, and they'd gain
weight.

As she neared the house again she noticed how
high the grass and weeds had gotten in the yard. It was so bad she might need
to move the herd to the yard to graze instead of to the pasture. Yard work had
come in a poor second to all the other things that had needed doing, but now,
thanks to John, she had both the time and energy to do something about it.

She got out the lawnmower and pushed it up
and down the yard, struggling to force it through the high grass. Little green
mounds piled up in neat rows behind her. When that was finished, she took a
knife from the kitchen and hacked down the weeds that had grown up next to the
house. The physical activity acted like a sedative, blunting the edge of fear and
finally abolishing it altogether. She didn't have any reason to be afraid;
Roger wasn't going to do anything.

Subconsciously she dreaded going to bed that
night, wondering if she would spend the night dozing, only to jerk awake every
few moments, her heart pounding with fear as she waited for her particular
demon to leap screaming out of the darkness and drag her out of bed. She didn't
want to let Roger have that kind of power over her, but memories of that night
still nagged at the edges of her mind. Someday she would be free of him. She
swore it; she promised it to herself.

When she finally went reluctantly up the
stairs and paused in the doorway to her delicately feminine room, she was
overcome by a wave of memories that made her shake. She hadn't expected this
reaction; she'd been thinking of Roger, but it was John who dominated this
room. Roger had never set foot in here. John had slept sprawled in that bed.
John had showered in that bathroom. The room was filled with his presence.

She had lain beneath him on that bed,
twisting and straining with a pleasure so intense that she'd been mindless with
it. She remembered the taut, savage look on his face, the gentleness of his
hands as he restrained his strength which could too easily bruise a woman's
soft skin. Her body tingled as she remembered the way he'd touched her, the
places he'd touched her.

Then she realized that John had given her
more than pleasure. She hadn't been aware of fearing men, but on some deep
level of her mind, she had. In the two years since her divorce she hadn't been
out on a date, and she'd managed to disguise the truth from herself by being
part of a crowd that included men. Because she'd laughed with them, skied and
swam with them—as long as it was a group activity, but never
alone
with a man—she'd been able to tell herself that Roger hadn't warped her
so badly after all. She was strong; she could put all that behind her and not
blame all men for what one man had done.

She hadn't blamed them, but she'd feared
their strength. Though she'd never gone into a panic if a man touched her
casually, she hadn't liked it and had always retreated.

Perhaps it would have been that way with
John, too, if her long obsession with him hadn't predisposed her to accept his
touch. But she'd yearned for him for so long, like a child crying for the moon,
that her hunger had overcome her instinctive reluctance.

And he'd been tender, careful, generous in
the giving of pleasure. In the future his passion might become rougher, but a
bond of physical trust had been forged during the night that would never be
broken.

Not once was her sleep disturbed by
nightmares of Roger. Even in sleep, she felt John's arms around her.

She had half expected John to be among the
men who rode over the next morning to move the cattle to the east pasture, and
a sharp pang of disappointment went through her as she realized he hadn't come.
Then enthusiasm overrode her disappointment as she ran out to meet them. She'd
never been in on an actual "cattle drive," short as it was, and was
as excited as a child, her face glowing when she skidded to a stop in front of
the mounted men.

"I want to help," she announced;
green eyes sparkling in the early morning sun. The respite from the hard
physical work she'd been doing made her feel like doing cartwheels on the lawn.
She hadn't realized how tired she'd been until she'd had the opportunity to
rest, but now she was bubbling over with energy.

Nev Luther, John's lanky and laconic foreman,
looked down at her with consternation written across his weathered face. The
boss had been explicit in his instructions that Michelle was not to be allowed
to work in any way, which was a damned odd position for him to take.
Nev
couldn't remember the boss ever wanting anyone
not
to work. But orders were orders, and folks who valued their hides didn't ignore
the boss's orders.

Not that he'd expected any trouble doing what
he'd been told. Somehow he just hadn't pictured fancy Michelle Cabot doing any
ranch work, let alone jumping up and down with joy at the prospect. Now what
was he going to do? He cleared his throat, reluctant to do anything that would
wipe the glowing smile off her face, but even more reluctant to get in trouble
with Rafferty.

Inspiration struck, and he looked around.
"You got a horse?" He knew she didn't, so he figured that was a
detail she couldn't get around.

Her bright face dimmed, then lit again.
"I'll drive the truck," she said, and raced toward the barn.
Thunderstruck,
Nev
watched her go, and the men with him muttered warning
comments.

Now what? He couldn't haul her out of the
truck and order her to stay here. He didn't think she would take orders too
well, and he also had the distinct idea the boss was feeling kinda possessive
about her.
Nev
worked with animals, so he tended to put his thoughts
in animal terms. One stallion didn't allow another near his mare, and the
possessive mating instinct was still alive and well in humans. Nope, he wasn't
going to manhandle that woman and have Rafferty take his head off for touching
her. Given the choice, he'd rather have the boss mad about his orders not being
followed than in a rage because someone had touched his woman, maybe upset her
and made her cry.

The stray thought that she might cry decided
him in a hurry. Like most men who didn't have a lot of contact with women, he
went into a panic at the thought of tears. Rafferty could just go to hell. As
far as
Nev
was concerned, Michelle could do whatever she wanted.

Having the burden of doing everything lifted
off her shoulders made all the difference in the world.

Michelle enjoyed the sunshine, the lowing of
the cattle as they protested the movement, the tight-knit way the cowboys and
their horses worked together. She bumped along the pasture in the old truck,
which wasn't much good for rounding up strays but could keep the herd nudging
forward. The only problem was, riding—or driving—drag was the
dustiest place to be.

It wasn't long before one of the cowboys
gallantly offered to drive the truck and give her a break from the dust. She
took his horse without a qualm. She loved riding; at first it had been the only
thing about ranch life that she'd enjoyed. She quickly found that riding a
horse for pleasure was a lot different from riding a trained cutting horse. The
horse didn't wait for her to tell it what to do. When a cow broke for freedom,
the horse broke with it, and Michelle had to learn to go with the movement She
soon got the hang of it though, and before long she was almost hoping a stray
would bolt, just for the joy of riding the quick-moving finimal.

Nev
swore long and eloquently under his breath when he
saw the big gray coming across the pasture. Damn, the fat was in the fire now.

John was eyeing the truck with muted anger as
he rode up, but there was no way the broad-shouldered figure in it was
Michelle. Disbelieving, his black gaze swept the riders and lighted unerringly
on the wand-slim rider with sunny hair tumbling below a hat. He reined in when he
reached
Nev
, his jaw set as he looked at his foreman.
"Well?" he asked in a dead-level voice.

Nev
scratched his jaw, turning his head to watch Michelle
snatch her hat off her head and wave it at a rambunctious calf. "I
tried," he mumbled. He glanced back to meet John's narrowed gaze. Damned
if eyes as black as hell couldn't look cold. "Hell, boss, it's her truck
and her land. What was I supposed to do? Tie her down?"

"She's not in the truck," John
pointed out.

"Well, it was so dusty back there
that…ah,
hell! "

Nev
gave up trying to explain himself in disgust and
spurred to head off a stray. John let him go, picking his way over to Michelle.
He would take it up with
Nev
later, though already his anger was fading. She wasn't doing anything
dangerous, even if he didn't like seeing her covered with dust.

She smiled at him when he rode up, a smile of
such pure pleasure that his brows pulled together in a little frown. It was the
first time he'd seen that smile since she'd been back, but until now he hadn't
realized it had been missing. She looked happy. Faced with a smile like that,
no wonder
Nev
had caved in and let her do what she wanted.

"Having fun?" he asked wryly.

"Yes, I am." Her look dared him to
make something of it.

"I had a call from the lawyer this morning.
He'll have everything ready for us to sign the day after tomorrow."

"That's good." Her ranch would
shrink by a sizable hunk of acreage, but at least it would be clear of any
large debt.

He watched her for a minute, leaning his
forearms on the saddle horn. "Want to ride back to the house with
me?"

"For a quickie?" she asked tartly,
her green eyes beginning to spit fire at him.

His gaze drifted to her breasts. "I was
thinking more of a slowie."

"So your men would have even more to
gossip about?"

He drew a deep, irritated breath. "I
suppose you want me to sneak over in the dead of night. We're not teenagers,
damn it"

"No, we're not," she agreed. Then
she said abruptly, "I'm not pregnant."

He didn't know if he should feel relieved, or
irritated that this news meant it would be several days before she'd let him
make love to her again. He wanted to curse, already feeling frustrated. Instead
he said, "At least we didn't have to wait a couple of weeks,
wondering."

"No, we didn't" She had known that
the timing made it unlikely she'd conceive, but she'd still felt a small pang
of regret that morning. Common sense aside, there was a deeply primitive part
of her that wondered what woman wouldn't want to have his baby. He was so
intensely masculine that he made other men pale in comparison, like a blooded
stallion matched against scrub stock.

The gray shifted restively beneath him, and
John controlled the big animal with his legs. "Actually, I don't have
time, even for a quickie. I came to give Nev some instructions, then stop by
the house to let you know where I'll be. I have to fly to Miami this afternoon,
and I may not be back for a couple of days. If I'm not, drive to Tampa by
yourself and sign those papers, and I'll detour on my way back to sign
them."

Michelle twisted in the saddle to look at the
battered, rusting old truck bouncing along behind the cattle. There was no way
she would trust that relic to take her any place she couldn't get back from on
foot. "I think I'll wait until you're back."

"Use the Mercedes. Just call the ranch
and Nev will have a couple of men bring it over. I wouldn't trust that piece of
junk you've been driving to get you to the grocery store and back."

It could have been a gesture between friends,
a neighborly loan of a car, even something a lover might do, but Michelle
sensed that John intended it to mean more than that. He was maneuvering her
into his home as his mistress, and if she accepted the loan of the car, she
would be just that much more dependent on him. Yet she was almost cornered into
accepting because she had no other way of getting to Tampa, and her own sense
of duty insisted that she sign those papers as soon as possible, to clear the
debt

He was waiting for her answer, and finally
she couldn't hesitate any longer. "All right." Her surrender was
quiet, almost inaudible.

He hadn't realized how tense he'd been until
his muscles relaxed. The thought that she might try driving to Tampa in that
old wreck had been worrying him since he'd gotten the call from Miami. His
mother had gotten herself into financial hot water again, and, distasteful as
it was to him, he wouldn't let her starve. No matter what, she was his mother.
Loyalty went bone deep with him, a lot deeper than aggravation.

He'd even thought of taking Michelle with
him, just to have her near. But Miami was too close to Palm Beach; too many of
her old friends were there, bored, and just looking for some lark to spice up
their lives. It was possible that some jerk with more money than brains would
make an offer she couldn't refuse. He had to credit her with trying to make a
go of the place, but she wasn't cut out for the life and must be getting tired
of working so hard and getting nowhere. If someone offered to pay her fare, she
might turn her back and walk away, back to the jet-set life-style she knew so
well. No matter how sum the chance of it happening, any chance at all was too
much for him. No way would he risk losing her now.

For the first time in his life he felt
insecure about a woman. She wanted him, but was it enough to keep her with him?
For the first time in his life, it was important. The hunger he felt for her
was so deep that he wouldn't be satisfied until she was living under his roof
and sleeping in his bed, where he could take care of her and pamper her as much
as he wanted.