Native Silver (9 page)

^“
Now you’re ready for a night on the town,” he said, grinning at the picture she made.

“Next time I need a Halloween costume, I’ll
know where to come.” She shed the hat and boa and
went back to looking through the paintings. “Sea
scapes, moonshadows, fruit on a table. There aren’t
any people in here at all!”

“Any lost Rembrandts?” he asked as he pulled
out a big black box and began poking into the
contents. “Any forgotten Picassos?”

“Not in this bunch.” She put the last one against
the wall and turned back to David with a disgusted
moan. “They’re not here.”

He nodded with no sympathy whatsoever. “I
won’t say I told you so,” he announced smugly, “but
I told you so.”

She was too disappointed to pay any attention to
his ribbing. She’d been so sure . . . Gazing quickly around the room, she lost all hope. There was no
other place for the portraits to be hiding. They must
have been thrown out when the place went to the
Santiagos. Unless there was somewhere else they
might be hiding.

Suddenly she noticed David looking at something with a particularly idiotic smile on his face.

Curiosity aroused, she came up behind him. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” He hastily pushed the objects he’d
been looking at back into the black box. “Given up
on your ancestors, have you?”

“No.” She reached right by him and pulled the
objects back again. In her hand she found three cartoon characters cut from wood, the kind one
often saw on the walls of children’s nurseries. They were chubby little pigs, each in a different colored
hat.

Forgetting her disappointment, she laughed out
loud. “And who are these delightful creatures? Friends of yours?”

To her glee, a rosy hue was beginning to creep
across David’s cheeks. Could that possibly be a real, honest-to-goodness blush? She wanted to throw her arms around his neck.

“They were in my room when I was a kid,” he mumbled, trying to get her to put them back in the
box. “That’s all. No big deal”

She could see him as a little boy, lying in his bed
and gazing up at the pigs on his wall. The laugh
bubbling up in her throat almost escaped again, but
she managed to hold it back, “What are their
names?” she coaxed. “Come on. You can tell me.”

“Come on, Shawnee.” He tried to frown with adult authority, but when he looked back at the little pigs, he couldn’t keep it up. He hesitated,
then said tentatively, “You really want to know?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

He looked at her suspiciously. “Okay.” He pointed to the pig in the green hat. “That’s Curly.
See his tail? And the one in red is Sleepy.”

That seemed appropriate. His little round eyes were tightly shut.

“And this little guy—” David took the last one out
in his hand and held it up to the light. From the
look on his face, Shawnee guessed that this had
been his favorite of all. The pig was round as a balloon. A little yellow hat sat on top of his head and
a sad tear dropped from his eye. “This is Spitball.”

The laughter died in her throat. “Spitball?” she
asked incredulously. It hardly fitted with Curly and
Sleepy. “Why Spitball?”

He grinned with sly triumph as he handed it back
to her. “Because I used him for target practice, that’s why. What a dumb question.”

She searched his expressionless face, trying to decide if he’d been putting her on when he acted sentimental over old toys, or if he was putting her on now, pretending otherwise. He held her gaze,
not giving an inch.

“Spitball,” she murmured in disgust, and put the
pigs away. And gazed around the room for more treasure.
 

“Oh, David, look!” A stack of photographs in
silver frames turned out to be all of David. David graduating from high school, David playing football, David riding a beautiful Palomino in the
Founder’s Day Parade.

“Handsome devil,” David noted admiringly.

“Well, the devil part is accurate anyway,” she
responded.

“You think so?” Suddenly he was much too close
again, his breath sweet against her skin, his hand
tangling in her hair. “And here I thought I’d been so
angelic today.”

He had, too. She could feel that he was holding
back, indulging her, and she felt a rush of gratitude. “It’s not what you do that brands you,” she said a bit
breathlessly. “It’s what you’re thinking.”

“What? Don’t tell me you can read minds?” He
was going to kiss her again if she let him. His fingers
tightened in her hair. “What’s going on in mine ought to be censored,” he murmured, moving closer.

She stared up at him, knowing how easy it would
be to respond in kind. But she’d vowed to cut this
out. It was time to act on her convictions. Instead of
staying in his power and waiting like a deer in a clearing, she gathered all her strength and pulled
away.

“We’ve got to look for my people!” she exclaimed as an excuse, turning away nervously. She walked
into the far end of the room and found something promising. “Come here quick. Look what I’ve found!”

He followed, smiling at her enthusiasm. “An old
gramophone. I remember that from my grandmother’s house.”

It was huge, with the big horn rising over the
turntable.

“And look at all these old 78s.” She began sifting
through them, exclaiming over old singing stars.
“Edith Piaf. I remember my grandfather listening to
her sing when I was a kid.” She slipped the heavy record out of its torn jacket. “Here, start the crank
and we’ll have a listen.”

She put the disc on the turntable, then looked up at David. “Well, if you won’t crank,” she said tartly,
“I will.” She reached for the handle, but David’s hand on her arm stopped her,

“I wouldn’t bother,” he said drily. “A little elec
tricity works so much better.” He held out the plug before pushing it into the wall socket.

He smirked, trying to turn it into a point for his side, but she wasn’t about to let him. “Now I know
why women need men,” she said with a grin. “They’re just so logical.”

David was about to make a retort, but the music began to fill the room and the sound of the extraord
inary voice drew them both to stand, mesmerized,
in front of the gramophone.

The language of the song was French and Shawnee couldn’t understand a word of it, but she didn’t
need a translation. It was all there in the voice, every tear, every heartache. Lovers torn or lured away, love unrequited, hope lost, war and death
and longing for something one could never have.
Shawnee felt a lump welling up in her throat.

When David slipped his arms around her from
behind, she leaned back against him, needing him while she listened. His lips were warm against her
neck and she arched it, letting him explore at will. His arms tightened around her. But when the song was over and he turned her towards him, he found
tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked with real concern. One
finger traced the wet trail along her cheek. “What’s
wrong?”

She shrugged helplessly and tried to smile. “I
don’t know,” she said, telling the truth and wishing
she could control her emotions a little better. He
was going to think she was an idiot. But there was something in that music and in that voice that sent her sentiments into a tailspin. The turmoil of her last few years, with her parents dying in a plane crash, her escape to Northern California pretty much bombing out, her fight to save Miki, her return to find her grandfather in such sad shape—it all seemed to be in the music. If she didn’t watch out, she would be crying buckets right here in front of the Santiagos, and that would be the last straw.
 

“I
...
I just
don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He laughed softly and pulled her against his chest. “No need to be sorry.” He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. “I
think I have a surprise that might bring the sparkle
back into your eyes,” he said.

She pulled back to look at him blearily, “What’s
that?”

He smiled at her, “I’ve had a thought. I may just know where your people are after all.”

Tears were forgotten as she cried out in delight, “Where?” Impulsively, she threw her arms around
his waist and hugged him tightly. “Oh, where? Let’s
go, quickly.”

“Can it wait?” He held her to him, reluctant to let her go, his eyes dark as he gazed down at her.

She stared up at him, surprised by something
trembling just behind his gaze, but she couldn’t tell
just what it was.
 

Don’t expect too much from me, David
, she warned silently, wishing she had the nerve to say the words aloud.
We’re still enemies,
no matter how strong the pull between us gets. And enemies can’t let down the final barriers. Not if they
want to survive the war.
 

“No,” she whispered to him.

A certain hardness came over his face, tightening his jaw. “Of course not,” he said shortly, letting her
go. “Come on. I’ll show you what I mean.”

CHAPTER FIVE

LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON

She followed him down the hall, around a corner, and down another hall, until they came to a heavy
wooden door that seemed very far removed from the main area of the house. David swung open the door, glanced in and nodded. “I was right. Here they are.” He held the door to let her in.

She entered the room slowly, gazing around carefully, wanting to take in every detail. Portraits hung on all sides, completely overwhelming the
neat little bed and dresser. It looked like an Alice in Wonderland compression of a gallery, all towering presence, very little room to move. Shawnee sighed
with pure ecstasy.

“This is a guest room that wasn’t used much,”
David told her. “When I brought friends home from
college they were often put in here, but other than
that . . .” He leaned back against the wall and
watched her, seemingly bemused by her emotional
reaction to finding the portraits.

“Andrew Barrett Carrington,” she read from the little
brass plate attached to one portrait. “May Anne
Spencer Carrington,” she read from another. “Gregory Hyde Spencer Carrington.” And there was her grandfather, James Andrew Carrington, young and cocky looking, his head held high and proud. He was the
owner of Rancho Verde when the portrait was
painted. No doubt he thought he always would be, th
at nothing could take it from him. How wrong he was.

“Why are these hung here?” she asked, marveling. “Why would you want the reminder?”

David shrugged. “Maybe my father thought they deserved a place in the ranch history, a place to be remembered,” he said softly.

Shawnee frowned. That didn’t fit the picture she had of Dan Santiago, a fierce, scheming autocrat who took what he wanted with no regard for others. And yet, here were the portraits, well maintained after all these years. She could almost feel the lives of these men and women echoing across the land. She shuddered, pulling her arms tightly around herself.

“There’s still at least an hour of light left,” she said, looking out of the window at the green hills of the ranch. “Let’s go out and explore.”

His hand was on her shoulder and she wanted to turn into it, to feel it caress her cheek. Something in her hungered for the comfort she knew he could give her. She had to keep her gaze away from his so that he wouldn’t see what she felt. She looked down at the bed and suddenly a vision of two bodies entwined in passion flashed into her mind. She jerked back, stung, but the image stayed, and she felt her heart beating a wild dance in her chest.

“Do you want to go out and explore?” he asked softly, his voice low and rumbling, “or do you want to stay here and . . . talk?”

She closed her eyes, facing away from him, but she knew he could feel the way her body was reacting to him, feel it right through his fingertips. She would have to move quickly, or she just might find herself turning the picture in her mind into reality.

“I…I’d really like to see the rest of the ranch,” she said, wishing she could take the tremor from her voice. “Please?”

When he didn’t answer, she steeled herself, then turned to smile brightly into his face. But something in his eyes tore the smile away. They were dark and clouded, as though some sort of storm was raging in his soul.

It’s about me
, she thought with sudden panic.
Something about me is disturbing him in a very scary way. He’s feeling guilty about what his family did to mine, or he’s angry that I’ve made him face it, or .. . . or he wants something from me . . .

It was definitely time to make a move. “Please?” she asked again, her voice trembling even more.

His hand slipped from her shoulder up to cup her cheek, just as she’d secretly wanted. “How can I refuse?” he said lightly, and turned away from her, toward the doorway, making her wonder if she’d only imagined the tumult in his glance.