Lethal Attraction: Against the Rules\Fatal Affair (12 page)

She wasn’t prepared to face him when the door opened suddenly, nor was she prepared for the black rage that swept over his face when he saw the ledger open on the desk. “What are you doing?” he snarled softly.

A calmness born out of a numbing certainty that her worst fears had been correct enabled her to stay in her chair and face him, and give her voice its even tone when she said, “I’m looking at the books. Do you have any objections?”

“I might, especially when you act like you’ve been trying to catch me cheating you. Do you want to hire an accountant to go over things to make certain I’m not finagling? You’ll find that every penny is right where it should be, but go ahead.” He paced around the side of the desk and stood looking down at her, his dark eyes hard. Glancing sideways, she saw that he was gripping his hat so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Abruptly she slammed the ledger shut and jumped to her feet, pain blooming inside her so acutely that she couldn’t sit still any longer. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze head on. “I’m not worried that you’ve taken any money; I know better than that. I was just...surprised to find that everything is in your name. Monica isn’t even a figurehead any longer, and hasn’t been for years. Why wasn’t I told? You’d think I’d be aware of what goes on with
my
ranch, or at least I should be.”

“You should have been,” he agreed. “But you weren’t.”

“What about now?” she challenged. “I’m involved now. Shouldn’t all of this be changed over into my name? Or have you begun to believe all of the talk in town about ‘Rule Jackson’s spread’?”

“So change it!” he said violently, and a sudden sweep of his hand sent the ledger crashing to the floor. “It’s your damned ranch and your damned money; do whatever you want with it! Just don’t whine to me because I kept the place running while you never bothered to even ask how it was doing!”

“I’m not whining!” Cathryn yelled, shoving at the stack of bills and sending them fluttering to the floor. “I want to know why you never told me that Monica had signed control of the ranch over to you!”

“Maybe I don’t have a reason! Maybe I just never thought of it! I’ve been working like a slave for years. I haven’t had time to chase you down every time some little something came up. Do I have your permission to pay the hands, Mrs. Ashe? Will it be all right if I write a check to pay for the fencing, Mrs. Ashe?”

“Oh, go to hell! But before you do, tell me why there’s so much money in the balance column when you’ve gone out of your way to make me think that there was no extra, that all the profits had been turned back into the ranch?”

One of his hands shot out, and he clamped it on her upper arm, holding her in a grip that would leave the imprint of his hand on her flesh. “Do you have any idea how much money it takes to run a stud?” he ground out. “Do you know what a good stallion costs? We’ve been breeding quarter horses, but we’re branching out into Thoroughbreds and we need two more stallions, more brood mares. You can’t charge them on your credit card, baby! It takes a hell of a lot of money on hand to— Hell!” he suddenly snarled. “Why should I explain anything to you? You’re the boss, so you can do what you damned well please with it!”

“Maybe I will!” she yelled, wrenching her arm away from his punishing fingers. Despite her best efforts, tears glistened in the darkness of her eyes as she stared up at him for a moment; then she whirled and ran from the room before she could disgrace herself by really crying.

“Cat!” she heard him call as she closed the door, but she didn’t return. She went upstairs to her room and carefully locked the door, then settled in the rocking chair with a spy thriller that she held in her hands but didn’t—couldn’t—read. She refused to give way to tears, though occasionally a lump formed in her throat and she had to struggle with herself. It was a waste of time to cry. She just had to accept things as they were.

Rule’s violent reaction at finding her going through the books meant only one thing to her: He didn’t want her to know how the ranch operated because he didn’t want her to take over any of his authority. Despite his accusation she knew that he was bone-deep honest and she sensed that he didn’t really think she suspected otherwise. No, he had attacked her because Rule was a good warrior and he knew the most important rule of combat: Be the first to strike.

So he was something of a fanatic about the ranch, she tried to reason with herself. At least she could depend on him to do the best thing, rather than look for a way to line his own pockets. It was just that she wanted him to think as much of her as he did of the ranch.... Not more, she wouldn’t ask that, but simply to care for her and the ranch equally.

She had thought that they had grown closer during these last days; even when they had snapped at each other she had been aware of a bond between them and had known that he felt it too. It had been more than a sexual bond, at least for her. Though she never looked at him without remembering in some small corner of her brain the intensity of his lovemaking, she had felt close to him in other ways. So much for daydreams, she thought, letting the book drop to her lap. Hadn’t she learned yet that Rule was a difficult man to read?

* * *

Though she was awake early the next morning, she didn’t go downstairs to have breakfast with him and spend the day by his side. Instead she remained in bed until she knew that he had gone, then spent the day giving the upstairs a good cleaning, more to keep herself busy than because the house was in dire need of it. She avoided Rule at lunch, too, though she heard Ricky’s laughter wafting upward and knew that her stepsister was keeping him company. So what if she was?

After Cathryn’s own hurried lunch, eaten while standing in the kitchen after Rule had returned to the range, she returned to her cleaning. She had left Rule’s room for last, and she was stunned when she entered it to find herself so moved by his lingering presence. His warm male scent seemed to fill the room. The pillow was still dented where his head had rested. His bed looked like a war had been fought on it. The clothing he had worn the day before had been dropped to the floor and probably kicked out of the way. Nothing else could have produced such a tangle of shirt, shorts, jeans and socks.

She had restored the room to order and was polishing the oak furniture when Ricky came in and draped herself across the bed. “The housewifely bit won’t impress him,” she drawled.

Cathryn shrugged, holding on to her temper with difficulty. Everything about Ricky rubbed her the wrong way lately. “I’m not trying to impress him. I’m cleaning house.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve spent every day with him, showing him how interested you are in the ranch. It won’t make any difference. He’ll take whatever you offer him and use it for as long as he wants it, but he doesn’t offer anything of himself in return. That’s the voice of experience speaking,” she added dryly.

Cathryn dropped the polishing cloth, her fingers clenching into fists. Whirling on Ricky, she said heatedly, “I’m getting tired of that line. I think you’re plain poison jealous. He’s never been your lover and you can’t convince me that he has. I think you’ve tried your best to get him to go to bed with you and he’s always turned you down flat, but now you’ve finally faced the fact that he never will be your lover and you can’t stand the truth.”

Ricky sat up, her face turning pale. Cathryn tensed herself for an assault, knowing that Ricky always flared up at the least hint of opposition; but instead the other woman looked at Cathryn for a long time, her entire body taut. Then slow tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve loved him for so long,” she whispered. “Do you have any idea how I feel? I’ve waited for years, certain that he’d decide one day that it’s me he really wants; then you show up to claim your own and it’s just like he’s slammed a door in my face. Damn you, you were gone for years! You wouldn’t give him the time of day, but because you own this godforsaken ranch he’s dropped me flat so he can chase after you.”

“Make up your mind,” Cathryn snapped. “Is he using me, or am I using him?”

“He’s using you!” Ricky spat. “You’re not my rival; you never have been, not even when he was making love to you on riverbanks. It’s this ranch, this piece of land, that he loves! You’re nothing to him, none of us are. I’ve tried to get you to ask him about it, but you’re too much of a coward, aren’t you? You’re afraid of what he might tell you!”

Cathryn’s lip curled. “I don’t ask for statements of commitment unless the relationship is serious.”

“And you’re using him to let off steam?” Ricky sniped. “Does he know that?”

“I haven’t used him for anything,” denied Cathryn, looking around for something to throw, a holdover from childhood that she stifled with difficulty.

“I’ll just bet you haven’t!”

Only Ricky’s departure, as abrupt as her entrance had been, saved Cathryn from a temper tantrum in the end. She stood in the middle of the floor, her breasts heaving as she tried to control her temper. She shouldn’t let Ricky upset her like that, but she had a hair-trigger temper and Ricky had always known just how to set it off. She had obtained some measure of serenity while married to David, but since returning to Texas it seemed that it had all fled. These days she was reacting simply to the signals that she received from her brain, whether to love or to fight; all her control seemed to be gone.

She still didn’t want to see Rule, so the phone call she had that afternoon from Wanda Wallace was very welcome, especially when Wanda cheerfully reminded her of the long-standing Saturday night dances. It was Saturday, and suddenly Cathryn wanted to go. “I’ve told everyone that you’re coming,” Wanda laughed, indulging in a bit of gentle blackmail. “All the old gang will be there, in dancing shape or not, so you can’t let us down. It’ll be fun. It’s still informal, nothing fancier than a sundress at the most. We older ones tend to stay away from jeans now that our fannies are so much wider,” she said wryly.

“It seems forever since I’ve been in a dress,” sighed Cathryn. “You’ve talked me into it. I’ll see you there.”

“We’ll save a seat for you,” Wanda promised.

The thought of seeing her old classmates filled Cathryn with anticipation as she showered and applied her makeup, then brushed her dark-fire hair into a loose cloud that swirled around her shoulders. The sundress she chose was simple, with wide straps that were comfortable on her shoulders, and the flaring skirt emphasized the slenderness of her waist. She clasped a gold serpentine belt around her waist and slid graceful matching bracelets onto each wrist. Dainty sandals with only a small heel completed the outfit. She made a face at herself in the mirror. In that innocent white dress she looked like a teenager again.

She popped into the kitchen to inform Lorna of her destination and the cook nodded. “Do you good to socialize some. Why don’t you pick one of those gardenia blossoms off the bush in front and put it behind your ear? I’m partial to gardenias,” she said dreamily.

Wondering what past romance had been associated with gardenias, Cathryn obediently plucked one of the creamy white blossoms and held it to her nose for a moment to inhale the incredibly sweet scent. She anchored it behind her ear and returned to the kitchen to show Lorna the result, and the older woman indicated her approval. With Lorna’s admonition to drive carefully following her, she went out to the station wagon and slid behind the wheel, glad that she had avoided catching even a glimpse of Rule all day long.

The dance had been held at the community center for as long as she could remember. It was a fairly large building, able to accommodate a crowd of dancers, enough tables and chairs for those who wished to sit, a live band on a raised stage, and a small refreshment center that sold soft drinks to the younger dancers and beer to the older ones. The teenagers had little chance of getting a beer because everyone knew everyone else, so they had no hope of lying about their ages. There already was a respectable crowd when Cathryn arrived and she had to park the station wagon at the far end of the lot, but even before she was able to reach the building she was being hailed by former classmates, and she finally entered at the center of a noisy, laughing group.

“Over here!” she heard Wanda call, and looked around until she saw her friend stretched on tiptoe and waving frantically. Cathryn waved back and made her way through the milling crowd until she reached Wanda’s table, where she dropped thankfully into the chair that had been saved for her.

“Whew!” she laughed. “I must be older than I thought! Just getting through the crowd has tired me out.”

“You don’t look tired,” a dark-haired man said admiringly, leaning across the table to her. “You still look like the charmer who broke my heart back in junior high.”

Cathryn looked at him with intense concentration, trying to place him among her classmates and utterly failing. Then his lopsided smile fell into place in her memory and she said warmly, “Glenn Lacey! When did you come back to Texas?” His family had left Texas when she was still in junior high, so she had never thought to see him again.

“When I finished law school. I decided that Texas needed the benefit of my wisdom,” he teased.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” advised Rick Wallace, Wanda’s husband. “All that education has addled his wits. Do you recognize everyone else?” he asked Cathryn.

“I think so,” she said, looking around the table. Her special friend Kyle Vernon was there with his wife, Hilary, and she hugged both of them. She remembered again that it had been the fond prediction of both Ward Donahue and Paul Vernon that their children would get married to each other when they grew up, but the childhood friendship had remained friendship and neither of them had ever been romantically interested in the other. Pamela Bowing, a tall brunette who concealed a genius for mischief behind a languorous demeanor, had been Cathryn’s best friend in high school, and they had an enthusiastic reunion. Pamela was with a man Cathryn didn’t recognize, and he was introduced as Stuart McLendon, from Australia. He was visiting the area while he studied Texas ranching. That left Glenn Lacey as the only unattached male, which automatically paired him with Cathryn. She was happy enough with that arrangement, because she had liked him when they were younger and saw no reason now to change her opinion.