Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth: Hawk's Way: Garth / Hawk's Way: Faron

Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth: Hawk's Way: Garth / Hawk's Way: Faron Joan Johnston Joan Johnston’s beloved Whitelaw boys have been branding hearts for over a decade.Celebrate the return of Hawk’s Way’s sexiest cowboys with these classic tales…Hawk's Way: FaronFaron Whitelaw had some nerve calling Belinda Prescott a princess. A nearly bankrupt ranch was hardly a castle, and Faron, an ill-tempered cowboy who’d inherited half her kingdom, was certainly no prince. Faron became spitting mad when Belinda informed him about the truth of his parentage: he wasn’t one of the Whitelaws of Texas. He wanted to believe that she was nothing more than a gold digger, but all she seemed to want was him…Hawk's Way: GarthGarth Whitelaw couldn’t understand why a rich Texas debutante like Candy Baylor would want to train horses. But she looked darn sexy in worn jeans with hay in her hair, so who was he to judge? Candy had no idea why Garth was suddenly so agreeable, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, her instructors in school had never been so ruggedly handsome as this wrangler…and she wouldn’t mind engaging in some horseplay! Hawk's Way Collection: Faron and Garth The Cowboy and the Princess Joan Johnston The Wrangler and the Rich Girl Joan Johnston www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Table of Contents Cover (#u523a3c79-ee14-5a1f-94e0-3a87204ac164) Title Page (#ua433fa2e-f861-5dc1-9dea-83bced0544ff) The Cowboy and the Princess (#ue3ff156c-ee24-5c84-9c7b-2a68fd061e76) CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN The Wrangler and the Rich Girl (#litres_trial_promo) PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) The Cowboy and the Princess (#u7cd2f596-fa07-59bc-b677-2a37a0087b56) Joan Johnston CHAPTER ONE (#u7cd2f596-fa07-59bc-b677-2a37a0087b56) HE WAS A MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN. Blond or brunette, freckled or dimpled, witty or shy, Faron Whitelaw made it his business to discover the facet of each woman that made her uniquely beautiful. Needless to say, women found Faron irresistible. Even if he hadn’t been handsome, which he was, they would have loved him for the innate thoughtfulness that always made him give as much as he took. Any woman who passed through Faron Whitelaw’s life—whether in bed or out—received a gift that would remain with her a lifetime: the knowledge that she was a very special, desirable human being. In fact, Faron had never known a woman he didn’t like. Until now. At the age of thirty he had finally encountered the exception to the rule. He not only didn’t like Belinda Prescott, he was prepared to hate her with a passion. Because, despite the fact he had never laid eyes on her, the woman was personally responsible for turning his life upside down. “Want some company?” Faron looked up at his eldest brother from the chair where he sat slouched with a whiskey in his hand. “Not particularly.” Garth snorted. “Too damn bad.” He poured himself two fingers of whiskey and took the chair opposite Faron’s in front of the stone fireplace. He put his feet up on a sturdy rawhide-covered stool that had held generations of Whitelaw boots. “I can’t believe you’re making so much out of this.” Faron’s gray-green eyes narrowed. His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You’re not the one who just found out he’s a bastard.” Garth laughed. “Hell. I’ve been called a bastard all my life.” “That’s how you act. It’s what I am.” Faron’s voice was stark as he asked, “How could Mom have done such a thing? Having an affair with some rich sonofabitch…. Did Dad know?” Garth’s lips flattened. “He knew.” He paused and added, “So did I.” Faron stared into his brother’s dark eyes, stunned by the realization that Garth had lived for years with this awful knowledge. “How long have you known that I was only half your kin?” Garth looked away into the fire before he answered. “Since you were born.” “And you treated me like a real brother?” “You are my brother!” Garth snapped. “Nothing’s going to change that. Dad’s name is on your birth certificate. He raised you. Nothing else matters.” Faron sneered. “You haven’t read any of those letters from the widow—my stepmother—asking when I’m coming to claim my inheritance from my father.” “Forget it,” Garth advised. “There’s plenty of Hawk’s Way for both of us. You can stay right here in Texas, and we’ll keep on raising and training quarter horses, just like we always have.” Faron shook his head. “I’ve got a mind to meet Belinda Prescott. The lawyer said she was the one who talked my fa—Wayne Prescott into putting me in his will. Said she insisted I get half of everything. Otherwise, I might never have known what Mom…” Faron’s voice trailed off as his throat tightened up on him. He had been feeling too much since he had found out that his beautiful mother had indulged in a tawdry affair with a millionaire rancher visiting Texas from Wyoming and had borne a bastard son. It was a stunning revelation to Faron that he was only related on his mother’s side to his older brothers Garth and Jesse and to his younger sister Tate. He felt bereft, wrenched from the bosom of his family. An outsider. And it was all that Prescott bitch’s fault. “I never figured the money would mean so much to you,” Garth said in a quiet voice. Faron’s gray-green eyes turned cold. “It’s a good thing I grew up knowing how distrustful you are of everybody’s motives. Otherwise I’d have to stand you up and knock you down for saying that. I’d have given anything not to know the truth. I don’t want half that old man’s fortune. I just want things to be the way they were.” The way they never would be again. Garth swallowed half his glass of whiskey. But he didn’t apologize. Faron hadn’t expected him to. He began to understand a little better what had made Garth so cynical about women, why his older brother refused to trust the species, let alone love one of them. Faron might have felt the same way himself, if he had grown up knowing his mother had betrayed his father. Both his parents were dead now. His mother had died giving birth to his sister, Tate, when Faron was seven. His father had broken his neck coming off an ornery bronc when Faron was fifteen. He felt ill equipped to deal with this secret that had been kept from him for so many years. Faron tried to remember if his father—or mother—had treated him any differently than Garth or Jesse or Tate. But it was too painful to even think about that right now. He was still too shocked. And angry. And frustrated. He felt battered and needed to escape. Faron played with the frayed seam at the knee of his jeans. “I just want to see the place where my fa—Where he came from,” Faron said. “I can’t explain it except to say that I feel like there’s a hole inside me now that needs filling. Maybe I’ll find something in Wyoming that’ll give me the answers I need.” “Give my regards to Belinda Prescott,” Garth said with a caustic smile. “Your greetings will have to wait,” Faron said grimly. “I’ve got a few things to say to Mrs. Prescott myself.” BELINDA PRESCOTT FELT GUILTY AS SIN. She should be in mourning. Her husband of eight years had been buried a mere four months ago. She should be home wearing black and recounting the memories of her too-brief marriage. Instead she was riding the fastest horse in the stables across Wayne’s Wyoming ranch, King’s Castle, enjoying the early spring sunshine and feeling finally, at long last, free. Because for six of the past eight years, The Castle had been a prison and Wayne her jailer. It hadn’t started out that way, of course. She had met Wayne when she was a waitress in a short-order diner in Casper that he frequented. She had worked the graveyard shift trying to make ends meet, and he had often come in for a midnight breakfast. They had started talking, and one thing had led to another. Wayne had found out that she was supporting three sisters. He was more than willing to accept a beautiful and youthful bride in exchange for a substantial trust fund for each of her siblings. She and Wayne had each known exactly what they were getting into. Twenty-year-old Belinda had willingly said her wedding vows with a man old enough to be her father. It was a small enough sacrifice to make so her sisters could have better lives. She had been too young and desperate at the time to realize the ramifications of selling herself—body and soul—for money. In the years since, she had regretted her devil’s bargain, but never so much as now, when she was finally free of Wayne and ready to go on with her life. Belinda had given up something besides her youth to marry Wayne—she had lost her innocence. She was no longer credulous, gullible or naive. She would never trust another man. The lessons Wayne had taught were hard, and he had been brutally thorough. She spurred the mare beneath her into a lope and lifted her face to the sun. She didn’t want to remember. But she couldn’t forget. Wayne had been such a gentle husband. At first. Then his heart had started causing him trouble. He had needed to take medication to keep him alive, and the medication had made him impotent. He had felt less a man and had sought other ways to relieve his frustration. He had begun to gamble. Then he drank to forget his huge gambling losses. Slowly but surely he had become less gentle and more unreasonable in his demands. His fortune had dwindled until all that was left was The Castle, the land and a few prime head of breeding stock. And a twenty-eight-year-old wife who had learned that sometimes the price of security comes too high. Belinda pulled the mare to an abrupt stop and wiped tears from eyes that were too blurred to see the grassy prairie around her. Her chest felt leaden—not because of sorrow, but because she felt none. God help her, she had felt only relief when the heart attack killed Wayne. It was difficult for her to look Wayne’s mother, Madelyn, in the eye. Because Madelyn truly grieved, and Belinda could not. At least she had been able to do one good thing. She had convinced Wayne to leave half of everything to his son. If it hadn’t been for Wayne’s mother, Belinda would have urged Wayne to leave his entire ranching empire to Faron Whitelaw. But Belinda had no money of her own. She hadn’t had any trust fund put in her own name when she had married Wayne. He had gambled nearly everything else away. She had to have some way to take care of Madelyn, who had become as precious to her as her own mother. Over the years, as Wayne had become more cruel, Madelyn had often stepped in to act as a buffer between her son and his wife. Madelyn had been appalled when she caught Wayne slapping Belinda. She had threatened to call the police if her son ever threatened Belinda with violence again. The two women had never spoken about Wayne, but they had shared other confidences, other hopes and dreams. Which was why Belinda had been determined to light a fire under her stepson that would goad him into moving north as soon as possible. Belinda wondered what Faron Whitelaw would do when he learned the other conditions of Wayne’s will. Her brow furrowed in concern. She had to hope that he would want his half of King’s Castle enough to do what had to be done. She was counting on it. She was willing to do her part. She only hoped he would be willing to hang around long enough after he showed up to do his. Otherwise they were both going to lose everything. CHAPTER TWO (#u7cd2f596-fa07-59bc-b677-2a37a0087b56) FARON SPOKE SOFTLY AS HE UNLOADED the quarter horse gelding from the trailer. He had pulled his pickup well off the highway near a pasture gate. “I know it’s been a long trip, Sonny. We’re both tired of traveling. Just take it easy, boy. According to that old man at the gas station in Casper we’re standing on Wayne Prescott’s land. Just be patient a few more minutes until I get you saddled up, and we’ll take ourselves a look-see.” The horse nickered as though he understood Faron and stood patiently while Faron brushed him down and saddled him up. It had been a long drive from northwest Texas to northeastern Wyoming. As Faron stepped into the saddle he thought of what the white-haired gent at the gas station had told him about his father’s land. “Mr. Prescott had him a kingdom, all right. Called his spread King’s Castle. Miles and miles of the prettiest grassland you ever did see,” the old man had said. “That big old house is set off in the middle of nowhere. Near three stories high, made of gray stone, with them little pointy things on the roof like some storybook castle. Even called it The Castle, Mr. Prescott did.” Now, as Faron surveyed his father’s domain, he was humbled by its vastness, awed by its richness. On this warm, surprisingly summerlike day in May, blue grama grass and wheatgrass flowed in waves over the rolling hills as far as the eye could see. This was cattle country, but there was a wealth of riches under the ground, as well. Oil. Natural gas. And coal. Faron gave the horse his head and let him run. He felt the power of the animal beneath him, taking him farther into an untamed wilderness. He urged the animal on, as though by running faster he could escape the oppressive feelings that had haunted him since he had learned the truth about his birth. It had taken him a week to put his things together after he had told Garth he was leaving. He had received yet another letter from Belinda Prescott asking him whether he was coming. She had sounded desperate. It made him wonder why she was so anxious for him to visit King’s Castle. He had unbent enough to tell her he was coming, but he hadn’t given her a definite date. His wire had simply said, “I’ll be there when I get there.” Faron rode some distance from the highway, until there was nothing to remind him of the civilized world he had left behind. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he spied a blond woman riding a palomino in the distance. Horse and rider presented a stunning picture. Her waist-length hair, flying like a gonfalon behind her, was the same magnificent gold as the horse’s mane and tail. He shouted to attract her attention. When she turned her head to stare at him, Faron drew breath with an audible gasp. She was incredibly beautiful. Ethereal. Like some fairy princess. He wondered for a moment if he had conjured her in his imagination. But the shock on her face was real. And the sound of the palomino’s thundering hooves as she galloped her horse away was real. Intrigued, Faron pursued his elusive golden princess. He dug his heels in and urged his mount to a run. The quarter horse was bred for speed over short distances, and Faron quickly overtook the woman. He grabbed the palomino’s bridle and hauled her horse to a stop. The woman stared at him wide-eyed, wary. Faron smiled. It was a smile that said, “You can trust me. I won’t hurt you. I find you absolutely lovely.” But his elusive princess—who else but a princess would he find on King’s Castle land?—wasn’t the least bit impressed. “Let me go,” she said in a breathless voice. “Please.” He let go of the bridle but said, “Don’t go. Stay and talk with me.” She took her lower lip between her teeth. He could see her distress, the struggle to decide. “We’re strangers,” she said at last. “We have nothing to talk about.” “If we talk, we won’t be strangers for long,” he promised. “Please.” “I have to go home.” “What’s your name?” he asked. “None of your business.” “All right, then. No names. I’ll call you Princess. You can call me…Cowboy.” He thought he saw the hint of a smile curl her lip, but she flattened it out damn quick. Faron stepped down from his horse and walked around its head to stand at her side. He tipped his Stetson back and smiled up at her. “I’ll help you down.” He didn’t give her a chance to object. Before she could say anything Faron had got hold of her tiny waist. He could feel the tension in her as he lifted her off the horse. She met his gaze for an instant with frightened eyes before she lowered her lashes, and he realized that she expected him to take advantage of the situation. Maybe he should have dragged her down the length of him. He sure as hell had wanted to bad enough. She clearly had a body made for loving. She was nearly as tall as he was. Her head came all the way to his chin, which was surprising because he was well over six feet. She was wearing a long-sleeved man’s shirt tucked into fitted Levi’s, but both shirt and jeans showed off a figure that was fully feminine. Her boots were well used but expensive, ostrich if he wasn’t mistaken. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping when she glanced up at him again. She had eyes a rare violet color. Her complexion would have earned the envy of a pale pink rose. As he stared at her, stricken by emotions he couldn’t name, he saw her cheeks darken to a redder rose. “I should go home,” she said. But she sounded less sure about leaving. She was worrying that full lower lip again with pearly white teeth. Faron slipped her hand through his crooked arm, took the reins of both horses and started walking toward a meadow of spring wildflowers. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Princess?” He could feel the tension in her, and he kept talking in an attempt to show her he wasn’t a threat to her. At least not yet. “Tell me about yourself,” he urged. She eyed him from beneath lowered lashes. “What do you want to know?” “Any brothers or sisters?” For the first time, her lips curved in a genuine smile. Sweet and kind of sad. “Three sisters.” “Older or younger?” “All younger. You?” Faron opened his mouth to say two brothers and a sister, then realized he would have to qualify that—half brothers and a half sister. He frowned. Damned if he would. “I’ve got two older brothers and a younger sister.” He felt her relax almost immediately. Amazing how having a family made him seem less dangerous. Little did she know. His family was about the most unruly bunch he knew. “What are you doing way out here?” he asked. She looked off into the distance. “Running from my problems.” He was tempted to make a flippant retort, but her honesty spurred him to equal sincerity. “Me, too.” She looked up at him again from beneath those dark lashes, to see if he was telling the truth. He realized she hadn’t once looked at him directly and figured she must be used to hiding her feelings. But from whom? And why? His lips twisted wryly. “Seems like we do have something in common, Princess. How ’bout if we run off together and leave our problems behind?” “I can’t—” “Just for the afternoon,” he urged. “What do you say? Let’s throw our cares to the four winds and enjoy this afternoon together.” He felt her hand tremble where it lay on his forearm. She withdrew it and clasped her hands together in front of her. He could see she was tempted. He wished he knew what to say to push her over the brink. Nothing came to mind, so he just smiled. Belinda knew she was making a mistake even as she nodded her head yes. She had to be crazy. She was truly certifiable. Imagine agreeing to spend the afternoon with a perfect stranger. She recognized the quality of both his horse and saddle, so she knew he was more than just some drifter. He was wearing frayed jeans, but his Western shirt appeared to have been tailored to fit both his broad shoulders and his lean waist. But who was he? And where had he come from? She had lived so reclusively at The Castle, he might even be a neighbor from one of the outlying spreads for all she knew. “Are you from around here?” she asked. “Just passing through.” That was some comfort. “What brings you here?” He looked off across the prairie. “Just taking a look around. How about you? You live around here?” She nodded. “Around.” She wasn’t about to be any more specific than he had been. It was safer that way. Apparently the Cowboy gave her evasive answer a different meaning because he grinned and said, “So you’re trespassing, too?” “What?” “Trespassing. On Wayne Prescott’s land.” “Oh.” Belinda knew she ought to correct his mistaken impression, but that would mean admitting she was Wayne Prescott’s widow. Which would mean an abrupt end to her afternoon with the Cowboy. She wanted—needed—to forget who she was for a little while. So she said nothing. Faron took her revealing blush as an admission of equal guilt. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you get into trouble.” After all, he owned half the place. If that bitch stepmother of his tried to make trouble, well, he would handle her. He pulled off his worn leather gloves and tucked them in his belt. Then he held out his hand to her. “I feel like walking some more. Will you join me?” His smile made the invitation irresistible. Belinda’s heart was doing a rat-a-tat-tat that made her want to press her hands to her chest to slow it down. She forcibly relaxed the knotted fingers she had clasped in front of her and reached out to take his hand. It was warm and callused like a working man’s ought to be. It gave her a feeling of strength and security as it closed around her fingers. At the same time, she looked up into the Cowboy’s unusual gray-green eyes. They were the color of a mountain spruce, wide-set, heavily lashed and crowned with arched brows. There were webbed lines at the corners, etched there by the sun. His nose was straight and angled slightly at the tip, and he had a beauty mark—was it called that when a man had one?—high on his right cheekbone. She had been terrified when he chased her on horseback, but he had done a good job of allaying her fears. He hadn’t touched her in any except the most gentlemanly way. She had noticed his restraint when he lifted her off her horse. On the other hand, he hadn’t exactly given her a choice of whether she was going to join him on the ground. She felt certain he wasn’t the sort of man to be denied something he wanted. Nevertheless, she was inclined to accept him at face value. He was an open, friendly and—she would not deny it—handsome man…who knew his way around women. She had been charmed by that ridiculous name he had called her, Princess. And it was telling that he had tagged himself Cowboy, after that chivalrous knight of the Old West. So what did he really want from her? She angled her head and took a long hard look at him. “Something wrong?” he asked. “You look familiar somehow.” He grinned. “Maybe I’m the man you’ve been waiting for all your life.” Her expression sobered. She was waiting for someone, all right, but it wasn’t the man of her dreams. Any day now she expected her stepson from Texas to arrive. For a horrified instant she wondered if this stranger with whom she had been flirting could be Faron Whitelaw. But this man couldn’t be Wayne’s son. He didn’t look a bit like Wayne. Wayne’s well-trimmed hair had been almost white blond. This man had coal black hair hanging down over his collar. Nor did his gray-green eyes have anything in common with the cold sapphire of Wayne’s. And the Cowboy’s forearms, visible where his shirtsleeves were folded up, revealed a warm bronze tint totally different from Wayne’s light, easily freckled skin. Did it really matter who he was? Would it be so awful if she stole an afternoon for herself with a perfect stranger? She had seen the admiration in his eyes, and it felt good. She had found him equally attractive. He was extraordinarily tall, which was a good thing, since she had been as long-legged as a giraffe all her life. He had the rangy build of a cowboy, long, lean and strong. He had lifted her from the saddle as though she weighed nothing. And she had felt the play of muscle and sinew where her hand rested on his forearm. Why not join in the Cowboy’s fantasy? Just for an afternoon. What could possibly go wrong? “So what are you running from?” Belinda asked as she strolled with the Cowboy toward the nearby meadow. Faron left the two horses with their reins dragging. A cow horse wouldn’t wander far ground-tied like that, and there was plenty of grass to keep the animals close. “I think this is only going to work if we leave our problems behind us,” Faron said. “We can only talk about good things this afternoon.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Agreed?” “It’s a deal,” Belinda said. He lifted the hand he held, turned it over and kissed the center of her palm. Belinda felt a streak of electricity shoot up her arm. She yanked her hand back reflexively, then laughed to cover the awkwardness it had created between them. “That tickled,” she murmured in excuse and explanation. “Yeah,” he muttered back. Faron wondered if she had felt the same charge on her skin as he had felt on his lips. It had been an amazingly strong jolt to his system. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” Belinda dropped to her knees near a patch of large, daisylike flowers. Nearby was a bunch of bright blue lupine. The top of the hillside was rimmed with Indian paintbrush. “We couldn’t have picked a more perfect spot for an afternoon idyll if we’d tried,” she said. Faron’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the countryside. “It is beautiful. It’s a shame…” “What?” “Nothing.” Faron wasn’t about to spoil his afternoon by thinking about his father and stepmother. He sat down and realized the ground still held the chill of winter. He pulled off his denim jacket and said, “Why don’t you sit on this? It’ll keep you from getting cold.” “I don’t think—” Again, he didn’t give her a choice. He spread his jacket on the ground, then slipped a hand around her waist and resettled her on the denim. “Thanks,” she murmured. Faron’s gallantry won him a rare smile that made his heart skip a beat. “You’re welcome.” Belinda immediately began making a chain from the daisylike flowers. Faron stretched out beside her, his head on his hand. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said. Belinda laughed. “Are you always so forthright?” He felt his body tighten at the sound of her laughter. “I tend to say what I’m thinking.” She looked up at him from under lowered lashes. “Then since we’re being honest, you’re quite good-looking yourself.” He grinned. “Thanks.” She laughed again. He was so different from Wayne. So carefree. She ought not to be here. She ought to be home, wearing black. Mourning. “What are you thinking, Princess?” The Cowboy’s voice ripped her from the melancholy that threatened her peace. “What?” He smoothed the furrows on her brow with his thumb. She had to purposely hold herself still for the caress. It was the first one she had received in so long her skin seemed to come alive beneath his touch. When his fingers trailed into the hair at her temple she leaned away, and his hand dropped back to the grass. “You looked worried,” he said. “I wondered what you were thinking.” “That I shouldn’t be here.” “No time for regrets now. We made a deal. Only happy thoughts.” Faron sat up and leaned his wrist on one bent knee. “Let’s see. What should we talk about?” “When was the happiest time in your life?” she asked. “It’s all been pretty good,” he admitted. Until lately. “I guess I’d choose the day I made love to a woman for the first time.” Faron was both surprised and delighted by the blush that stained her cheeks at his revelation. “I can’t believe you said that,” Belinda protested with a laugh. “I warned you I was honest,” Faron said. “It’s your turn now.” “The happiest time?” she asked. There was a long silence while she thought about it. “It wasn’t that tough a question, was it?” Faron asked. She grimaced. “I suppose the happiest time would have been before my parents died, although life was such a struggle on the ranch…” She shrugged. Belinda could see the Cowboy was about to ask questions she would rather not answer, so she asked, “What did you want to be when you grew up?” “That’s easy,” Faron replied. “The best.” “At what?” “Something. Anything.” “That certainly gave you a lot of room to succeed,” she said teasingly. Apparently he hadn’t liked the idea of being tied down to any one thing. “Are you the best at something?” Faron grinned. “I’m a damned good cowboy, ma’am.” He leaned back so she could see the rodeo belt buckle he was wearing. Belinda laughed and realized suddenly it had been a long time since she had done so. “I should have known.” She leaned over and traced the writing on the buckle with her fingertips. Rodeo Cowboy All-Around Champion. No wonder he had called himself Cowboy! Faron held his breath as Belinda traced the face of the silver buckle with her fingertips. It was as though he could actually feel her touching his skin. He wanted her hand lower. His body was doing a helluva good job of imagining all by itself. He cleared his throat, distracting her attention. “How about you? What did you want to be?” “I never let myself dream. I couldn’t.” “Why not?” She draped a chain of flowers around the brim of his Stetson. “My sisters and I were orphaned when my parents were killed in a car accident. I was eighteen and had just graduated high school. Dori and Tillie and Fiona were still in school. The ranch went to the bank for debts. I found a job in Casper that paid enough to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. That didn’t leave much time for dreaming.” “Let’s pretend you’re a real princess, and you can have anything you want. What would you wish for?” Faron asked. He laid a handful of flowers he had broken off just below the bud in her lap. She scooped up the white, yellow and blue flowers and lifted them to her nose to see how they smelled. “I’d wish for a man to love me. And for children. I’ve always wanted to have children.” “How many children?” he asked in a quiet voice. “More than one,” she said definitely. “I liked having sisters. I grew up knowing I never had to be alone.” “Do your sisters live close?” “Unfortunately they’re scattered across the country. Every Fourth of July we get together. That’s the only time everyone can get free.” Which meant she spent the rest of the year alone, Faron deduced. Her lashes fluttered down to conceal her eyes. “You’re not wearing a ring. Are you married?” “No.” “Do you have a girlfriend?” “No.” “But you’ve had lots of them, I suspect.” Faron eyed her askance. “What makes you say that?” “You’re awfully charming, for one thing.” He shrugged. “If you say so.” She smiled. “I do. For another thing, you don’t seem in any hurry to…” Her cheeks felt warm. “I don’t know exactly how to say this.” “Jump your bones?” Her flush deepened. “Well, I wouldn’t have said it quite that way, but—” “The afternoon isn’t over yet.” She swallowed hard. “Then I’m not safe with you?” “As safe as you want to be,” he said in a husky voice. His eyes were more green than gray as they sought hers. Belinda was aware of a frisson of desire that began in her belly and spiraled upward. She could feel herself being drawn to him. She had already begun to lean toward him when she realized what she was doing. She jumped abruptly to her feet, scattering flowers around her. “It’s getting late. I have to go.” She had already started toward her horse when he caught up to her and grasped her arm, stopping her. “Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” Belinda looked at the sun lowering in the western sky. Why, several hours must have passed! Where had the time gone? The Cowboy had cast some sort of spell on her to make her forget who—and what—she was. She would be lucky to get back to The Castle before suppertime. Madelyn would worry if she wasn’t home by then. “I have to leave. Really, this has been lovely, but I have to go.” “Where do you live? When can I see you again?” “You can’t!” She hadn’t meant to be curt, but she couldn’t bear to see the look in his eyes if he ever found out she was a widow, a woman who should be in mourning. “You can’t,” she said more calmly, but just as firmly. “Why not?” “Because…please don’t ask me to explain.” “All right.” Belinda breathed a sigh of relief. It turned out to be premature. “I’ll settle for a goodbye kiss.” “What?” He didn’t give her a chance to argue about it, simply pulled her into his arms and captured her mouth with his. The Cowboy’s kiss was like nothing Belinda had ever experienced before in her life. He tunneled all ten fingers into her hair. His lips softened on hers, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth to tease and to taste. For a moment she was quiescent. Then she kissed him back. Faron hadn’t known what to expect when he kissed his Princess. He had supposed from her shyness that he would be tasting innocence. For a few moments he had. But she had pulled him down to a deeper, darker well of desire than he had ever explored with a woman. A well where feelings and emotions were intimately bound with the physical act of love. He lifted his head far enough to look into her eyes. “Princess?” Belinda gazed up into gray-green orbs that were fierce with need. She reached up to touch the beauty mark on the Cowboy’s cheek, then trailed her fingertips back down to his mouth, which was still wet from their kiss. She traced his lips with her forefinger, then looked up into eyes that had darkened with desire. She raised her mouth and touched it lightly to his. Then her tongue slipped inside his mouth to taste him. She could feel the restraint he exercised to remain still for her kiss. It made her dare more. Her hands slipped around his neck and her fingertips teased the hair at his nape. She kissed the edges of his mouth and lingered to nip at his lower lip with her teeth. A harsh sound grated deep in the Cowboy’s throat, and Belinda found herself answering with a kittenish purr of satisfaction. He kissed his way along the edge of her jaw to her ear and caressed the delicate shell with his tongue. His breath was hot and moist and sent a shiver down her spine. Then his tongue slipped into her ear, and her belly curled with erotic sensation. Belinda’s eyes closed in surrender as her body swayed toward his. The Cowboy’s arms closed around her, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the blunt ridge of his manhood against her femininity. As he rocked their bodies together, Belinda felt her knees give way. The two of them slipped to the ground together. Belinda was aware of the cool grass beneath her, but it was the warmth above that she found so intriguing. The Cowboy held most of his weight on his arms, but their bodies were pressed together from the waist down, their legs entwined. His mouth found hers again, and this time he was more impatient. One yank ripped the first three buttons on her shirt free. His mouth was reverent as he kissed the creamy mounds that spilled out of her lacy bra. He freed the bra itself, and his mouth latched on to a rosy crest. When he began to suck, Belinda’s whole body arched up into his. She was desperate to touch his skin, and she pulled at his shirt to free it from his jeans. She tried to unbutton the buttons, but her hands were trembling too much. The Cowboy ripped the shirt off himself, sending buttons flying. Then he pressed their bodies together, flesh to flesh. Belinda made a soft little sound in her throat as the crisp hair on his chest brushed her tender nipples. “Princess, you feel so good. You feel so right.” His hand slid down to unsnap her jeans. The rasp of her zipper coming down sounded loud in her ears. Before she could come to her senses his mouth had captured her breast again. The Cowboy sucked and nipped and sucked again so the sensual tension never let up. His hand slid down inside her panties, through her feminine curls until he found the tender bud he sought. Belinda nearly came up off the ground as his fingers began to work their magic. “Come apart for me, Princess,” Faron crooned. “Be beautiful for me, only me.” He shoved her jeans down out of the way and unfastened his own. Belinda caught his face with both hands and brought his mouth up to hers. “Kiss me, Cowboy. Please, kiss me.” She felt his body invade hers at the same time his tongue thrust into her mouth. He was big and hard, and her body arched up to take all of him as he thrust deeply inside her. Belinda heard an animal sound rip from her throat as their bodies surged together. He withdrew and thrust again in ageless rhythm as her hips rose in counterpoint to his. Her fingernails dug crescents in his shoulders as her body arched up in passion. At the last instant, Belinda tried to fight the pleasure. This shouldn’t be happening! She had no right! But the Cowboy wouldn’t allow her to withdraw. “Come with me, Princess. Come with me!” Then it was too late. Her body began to convulse in wave after wave of unbearable pleasure. She gritted her teeth against the ecstasy that besieged her, holding her prisoner for timeless moments. While she was caught in the throes of passion, the Cowboy claimed her for his own. His cries were guttural as his body arched and spilled its seed within her. Afterward, they both lay exhausted, unable to move. Belinda was aware of a fine sheen of sweat on his body and the musky smell of sex. “I want to see you again,” the Cowboy murmured as he slipped to her side and drew her into his arms. He was already asleep before Belinda could answer him. Which was just as well. Belinda was appalled at what she had done. But she couldn’t regret it. What had passed between the Cowboy and his Princess was one brief shining moment when two souls blended into one. They might be strangers still, but they had found something more than physical satisfaction in each other’s arms. She would hold this magical afternoon close to her heart forever. But there was no way she could see him again. He would be horrified if he knew the truth about her. And she would be ashamed for him to find out. She had to escape now, while he was asleep. She dressed quickly and quietly and led her palomino a short distance away before she mounted him, so that she wouldn’t wake the Cowboy. When she was far enough away that the sound wouldn’t waken him, she kicked the mare into a gallop and raced back to The Castle. The instant she stepped inside the kitchen door, she was greeted by her mother-in-law. Belinda plowed a hand through her hair, shoving it off her face, and tried a smile. It failed dismally. “You’re late,” Madelyn said. She took one look at Belinda’s disheveled appearance and asked, “What happened to you?” There was more curiosity than accusation in her tone. “I…my horse threw me,” Belinda said, brushing at the grass stains on her jeans. “Your blouse is ripped. Are you sure you’re all right?” Belinda flushed and clutched at the torn fabric. Getting thrown shouldn’t have torn three buttons off her blouse. “I’ll just run upstairs and change for supper.” She hurried from the kitchen and practically ran up the majestic circular staircase that led to her bedroom. “There’s no hurry,” Madelyn murmured to Belinda’s disappearing back. There would be plenty of time before supper to ask about the love-bruise on her daughter-in-law’s neck. CHAPTER THREE (#u7cd2f596-fa07-59bc-b677-2a37a0087b56) THE COOL NIGHT AIR WOKE FARON. At first he didn’t know where he was. It all came back to him in a hurry. As he dressed himself, one thing quickly became apparent. His Princess was gone. Faron was furious when he realized he didn’t know her name or how to find her. Nor could he track her in the dark. Besides, he had phoned The Castle from Casper, and Madelyn Prescott was expecting him for dinner. He dressed quickly, muttering profanities when he realized half the buttons were gone from his shirt. He would have to change it when he got back to his truck. He took a look at the knees of his jeans and realized it probably wouldn’t hurt to change them, either. Not that he gave a damn what the Prescotts thought of him, but he had been taught manners around ladies that were hard to shed. Faron whistled for his horse, and Sonny nickered a response. The quarter horse hadn’t drifted far. Faron mounted up and rode in the fading light of dusk back in the direction of his truck and trailer. There wasn’t any chance he would lose his way. He had learned young to look back every so often when he was riding the range to mark his trail. He easily found the landmarks that took him back to the highway. Faron had gotten directions from Madelyn Prescott, and it didn’t take him long to find the formal entrance to King’s Castle. If the land had awed him, the house itself—The Castle—left him speechless. As he stepped from his pickup he couldn’t help staring. Light poured from tall, narrow, leaded windows, and there were sconces on the outside stone walls that created an eerie silhouette on the plains. The house did indeed have crenels along the roofline and what appeared to be turrets at the corners. When he cut the engine a cowhand came from the direction of the barn. “I’m Toby, Mr. Whitelaw. Mrs. Prescott said I was to take care of your horse,” the cowhand said. Faron backed Sonny from the trailer and watched long enough to make sure the cowhand knew what he was doing before he left his horse in Toby’s care. Moments later Faron found himself on the front steps of The Castle. The three-story gray stone structure had a massive double wooden door headed by a stone arch that might once have been the gateway to a medieval castle. When Faron knocked, the imposing entrance was opened by a tiny, silver-haired lady dressed in black. He found himself looking into a pair of gray-green eyes the same unusual color as his own. “Hello, Faron,” the woman said with a smile of greeting, “I’m your grandmother, Madelyn Prescott. We’ve been expecting you.” Faron’s hat came off at once. He leaned over and kissed the old woman on the cheek. She smelled of lavender powder. Her skin had the softness of the very young and the very old. The wrinkles on her face gave her character, as well as age. Faron felt his throat tighten as he realized this woman was indeed his grandmother. It was true, then. He was a bastard. Madelyn cupped her grandson’s cheek with her hand and searched his features looking for signs of Wayne. There was nothing of her son in Faron, but there was something of her. “You’ve got the Halliwell eyes, I see.” “If you say so, ma’am,” Faron said. “Hope I’m not too late for supper.” “Not at all. Belinda is still upstairs getting dressed. Perhaps you’d like to share a brandy with me in the parlor while we wait.” “I’d be pleased to, ma’am.” “Please, call me Madelyn.” But Faron couldn’t bring himself to call his grandmother by her first name. It seemed disrespectful somehow. By what fond nickname would he have called her, he wondered, if he had known as a child that she existed? He had called his father’s mother Nanaw, and his mother’s mother Gram. “Would you mind if I called you Maddy?” he asked. Her gray-green eyes quickly misted, and she pressed a fragile hand against her heart. “Why, that would be lovely, Faron.” He frowned when she seemed to have trouble catching her breath. “Are you all right?” “My health isn’t what it used to be. My heart, you know.” “I didn’t know. Have you seen a doctor?” “Oh, yes. I’m afraid in my case it’s just a matter of age catching up with me. Come along now. Belinda will be down soon, I’m sure.” As Faron followed Madelyn, he stepped into a world of days gone by—an open drawing room with walnut woodwork, nineteenth century furniture of polished cherry and oak, lace curtains and brilliant chandeliers of sparkling crystal. Two broad stairways formed a sweeping arc leading to the upper floors. Faron frowned at what he saw only because it represented his father’s wealth, which was the source of the current calamity in his life. It was not the setting in which he had expected to find his ogre of a stepmother. It felt too much like a home. He couldn’t help but admire the sense of history that was represented in the antique Western furnishings. Faron and his grandmother had gotten only as far as the stairs when they heard the echo of footsteps. “That will be Belinda,” Madelyn said. Faron followed her gaze up the stairs. The composed, graceful young woman who came walking down the sweeping staircase was a far cry from the ugly stepmother found in fairy tales. In fact, she was his very own Princess. Her glorious golden hair, which he had grasped in his fists while he came inside her mere hours ago, was bound up now in a stylish twist. Her sleek black silk dress showed off a lush figure with which he was intimately familiar. A long black chiffon scarf circled her neck and floated on the air behind her. But there was nothing of the wanton woman he had loved reflected in the cool violet eyes that met his gaze. It would be difficult to say which of the two lovers was more shocked to see the other. It was equally apparent that neither of them was willing to do or say anything in front of Madelyn that would upset the old woman. “Good evening, Mr. Whitelaw,” Belinda said, extending her hand. Her heart was pounding, and she felt as though she were going to faint. When the Cowboy took her hand, he held it longer than he should. His mouth had formed into a smile, but his gray-green eyes looked wintry. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mrs. Prescott. Please, call me Faron. If you don’t mind, I’ll call you…Belinda.” Faron’s anger had returned with a vengeance. Here stood a woman he had hated sight unseen—but with whom he had just experienced an incredibly passionate assignation. He wanted to ask her why she had made love to him when her husband—his father—was barely cold in the ground. But his lips clamped tight on the question. What they had done was awful enough. He had no intention of embarrassing his grandmother with revelations that would have to be distasteful to her. Beyond being angry, Faron was hurt. His stepmother had made a fool of him. He had called The Castle from Casper hours ago, so she must have known he was coming. Which meant she also must have known who he was when she had made love with him. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to give him her name! How could she have done such a thing? But despite being angry and hurt, he was also aroused. The memory of what had happened between them was still fresh, like a green wound that ached when prodded. Even icily distant, she was still his Princess. And he wanted her as much now as he ever had. Tension lay thick in the air. A powerful current sparked between them, threatening a shock to the first who broke it. “Come along, children,” Madelyn said at last. She led the way to the dining room, which was as richly furnished as the rest of the house. The pine trestle table was at least fifteen feet long. Three places had been set at one end with fine china and silver. Faron held Madelyn’s chair as she sat at the head of the table. Then he went around to help Belinda. Her stomach clenched when Faron leaned over to whisper in her ear and trailed his hand across her bare shoulder. When he spoke, it was his anger she heard. “It didn’t take you long to find some young stud to service you,” he hissed. “Did I measure up to my father?” Belinda’s face bleached white. “Are you feeling all right, my dear?” Madelyn asked. “I’m a little tired,” Belinda said. “I had a long ride this afternoon.” She raised her eyes to meet Faron’s and realized the second meaning that could be given to her words. His lips lifted in a slight smirk that made her feel physically ill. Belinda wanted to tell him she was sorry. But she wasn’t sorry. What had happened between them had been beautiful. What she really wanted was the chance to explain why she had needed what he had offered. She had been so very vulnerable. It had been so wonderful to allow herself the fantasy of loving and being loved. Now Belinda was sure Faron Whitelaw had entirely the wrong idea about what kind of woman she was. She could feel his attraction to her, but it was laced with harsher, harder feelings. The fierce look on his face gave ample evidence that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. And that he was unlikely to forgive or forget what she had done. When Belinda realized the road her thoughts had taken she was alarmed. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Wayne? Here she was ready to make the same mistakes again! Why should she care what her stepson thought of her? She would never give another man the sort of emotional, physical and economic hold over her that Wayne had possessed. She ought to show Faron the door. If it had only been herself involved in the catastrophe that threatened, she would have. But there was Madelyn to think of. So she clamped her back teeth together and held her tongue. Once Faron was seated, an older woman wearing a voluminous white apron began serving dinner. She passed out plates already laden with pork chops, mashed potatoes and green beans. The servant had hair dyed a shocking red and fingernails painted an equally vivid color. When she left the room Madelyn said, “Rue has been with the family forever. Belinda and I couldn’t manage without her.” To Faron it was further proof that Belinda Prescott was the pampered Princess he had labeled her. His stepmother sat across from him looking cool and elegant and totally in control. Meanwhile, his body was hard and throbbing from the small caress of her shoulders he had allowed himself. But he would be damned if he’d touch her again anytime soon. As he ate his dinner, Faron tried to revive the feelings of dislike he had felt toward Belinda Prescott for forcing him to confront his true paternity. But it was one thing to hate a woman you envisioned as an interfering rich bitch, and quite another to hate a woman with whom you’ve just shared the most poignant physical encounter of your life. To compound his confusion, the woman he found so attractive was his stepmother. He had been determined not to take anything handed down to him from Wayne Prescott. Now he found there was one thing he wanted very much: his father’s widow. “Did Belinda write you about the terms of the will?” Madelyn’s question jerked Faron from his thoughts. “What?” “The will. Did Belinda tell you the terms of Wayne’s will?” Faron’s gaze swung back around the table to spear Belinda. “No, Maddy, she didn’t. She did seem in an all-fired hurry for me to get here.” “Why don’t you tell Faron the problem, Belinda,” Madelyn said. “If you came here expecting to inherit wealth beyond your dreams, you’re going to be disappointed,” Belinda began. Faron’s brows arched. “I heard my father was a millionaire.” “Was is the correct word,” Belinda said. “King’s Castle, including the land and The Castle on it, is mortgaged to the hilt. The mineral leases only provide enough income to cover the taxes, and the worsening economy has left the ranch only marginally profitable.” “So sell the ranch and move into town,” Faron said. “It isn’t that simple.” “Why not?” Faron asked. “If we could sell the property piecemeal, there might be some hope of making a profit and avoiding foreclosure. But Wayne’s will stipulates that King’s Castle has to be sold all in one piece. Otherwise it gets donated to charity. “We simply haven’t been able to find a buyer willing to take the whole thing—thousands of acres of land, dozens of buildings, farm equipment, the stock, the house—in short, someone willing to buy the losing aspects of the ranch along with the profitable ones,” Belinda explained. “I was hoping you might have some ideas about improvements that would make the ranch attractive to a single corporate buyer.” Faron had wondered why his stepmother had gone to so much trouble to have him included in his father’s will. Now he had his answer. She needed someone with the right motivation—a promise of half the proceeds—to spend the time and energy putting King’s Castle back on its feet so she could make a big killing when it was sold! His sense of self-preservation warned him to get right back in his truck and go home to Texas. He decided to ask a few more questions first. “How much money do you have to work with?” “You mean cash?” Belinda asked. When Faron nodded she said, “There’s just enough in the bank for food for us and the stock over the summer.” “Surely there are some jewels or furs you can liquidate,” Faron said. “Oh, dear, no,” Madelyn said. “Wayne sold all those things years ago.” “Have you tried cutting the staff for the house and the number of cowboys on the payroll.” Madelyn’s eyes twinkled as she laughed. “You’ve seen the house staff,” she said. “Rue?” Faron asked incredulously. “We simply couldn’t let her go,” Madelyn said. “She’s almost family.” “And the cowhands?” “You’ve met Toby, I presume.” Faron nodded. When Madelyn said nothing more he realized the middle-aged cowboy was all there was. “Who takes care of things around here?” he demanded. “Why, Belinda does, of course,” Madelyn said. Faron stared hard at his stepmother. That wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear. “I can see you two need to discuss business,” Madelyn said. “So I’ll just excuse myself and go upstairs and get some rest.” Faron stood and escorted his grandmother to the door of the dining room, sliding the wooden door closed behind her. Then he turned back to the woman who had become his nemesis—and his desire. Faron stared at Belinda with narrowed eyes. “How bad is it?” he demanded. She laced her hands together calmly. “It’s as bad as you think it is. We’re as poor as church mice. If something isn’t done to make King’s Castle salable, Madelyn and I will be penniless and homeless within the year.” Faron fisted his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. He might have been able to leave Belinda to her fate, but there was no way he could stand by and watch his own grandmother be put out in the street. “All right,” he said. “I’ll hang around long enough to help put the place in shape to sell. But as soon as we find a buyer, I’m out of here!” “No one could want to leave this place more than I do!” Belinda said vehemently. “There are no happy memories here for me!” “No one forced you to marry my father,” Faron snarled. “You made your own bed. Now you have to lie in it. Just don’t expect me to join you there.” Belinda’s face blanched white. She could feel his fury, his hate and his desire. She had learned from Wayne how to avoid confrontation. It didn’t always work, but often enough it had saved her a bruise or a blackened eye. She put those lessons to good use now. She lowered her eyelids to hide the anger blazing there. She rose and smoothed the front of her skirt with hands that appeared much more calm than they were. In a soft, deferential voice she said, “I believe I’ll retire now.” When Faron took a step toward Belinda, her eyes flashed defiance. She would not become a victim, ever again. “Keep your distance, Cowboy!” He took another step toward her. “I’m warning you—” Then it was too late. He had her in his arms before she could turn and run. “Let me go,” she cried breathlessly. “This is wrong!” “It’s a little late for that argument, don’t you think, Princess?” “I didn’t know who you were! I never would have…” “Never would have rolled in the grass with your stepson?” Faron finished for her. Tears blurred Belinda’s vision. She held herself stiff in Faron’s arms. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.” “No, you don’t,” he murmured. The hardest thing Faron had ever done was to let her go. His body was hard and throbbing with need. It didn’t matter one bit that she was his father’s widow. But he had to work side by side with her over the next several weeks—or months. It was going to be awkward enough being together every day without knowing for sure that she still desired him as much as he desired her. “Where do I sleep?” he asked. Belinda was quivering with relief—or unsatisfied desire. She wasn’t willing to examine her feelings closely enough to find out. “Follow me,” she said. “I’ll show you where your room is.” Once again Faron found himself staring into violet eyes that had turned to ice. He followed her up one half of the curving staircase to a room that might have welcomed some cowboy a hundred years ago. It was furnished sparingly with a maple four-poster, a dry sink, a chest and a rocker. A rag rug covered a small area of the oak hardwood floor. The lamp was electric, but it was Victorian in style. The connected bathroom had a tub on legs and a pedestal sink. “The linens on the rack are for your use,” she said. Belinda was aware of the confines of the bathroom. She edged her way past the Cowboy and back into the more spacious bedroom. “If you need anything…” “I’ll be fine,” Faron said, realizing that she didn’t want to spend any more time with him than she had to. “Good night, Princess,” he said. His eyes said what he didn’t put in words. He wanted her. She was welcome to stay. Belinda didn’t bother to answer. She did what any self-respecting Princess would have done when the dragon started breathing fire. She fled to her room. CHAPTER FOUR (#u7cd2f596-fa07-59bc-b677-2a37a0087b56) 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. CHAPTER FIVE (#u7cd2f596-fa07-59bc-b677-2a37a0087b56) OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS, Belinda kept her distance from Faron. She conversed with him at breakfast, where Madelyn provided a buffer, and he gave her jobs so she could contribute to the work being accomplished at King’s Castle. But nothing she did brought her into contact with Faron. She marveled at the improvements in the ranch. Fences lost their dilapidated look, buildings got a new coat of paint, windmills began to whir again, machinery had a well-oiled sound. She began to believe that they really might find a buyer for the ranch. And to realize that if—when—King’s Castle was finally sold, she was going to miss it. One of her jobs today was to oil all the hinges on the stalls. Belinda thought she was alone in the barn, so she practically jumped out of her skin when a voice behind her said, “What are you doing?” She whirled, then expelled a relieved breath. “You scared me half to death!” Faron grinned. “I usually have a somewhat different effect on women. So what are you doing?” he asked again. She held out the oil can so he could see it. “I’m doing just what you ordered me to do this morning.” “Ordered?” “All right, what you suggested I do.” He took the can out of her hand and set it on the corner of one of the stalls. “Madelyn sent me to get you. She said she needs you in the house.” If Belinda thought that keeping distance between them had diffused the sexual tension one whit, she was finding out now that she had been wrong. She was aware of Faron from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Did she say why she wants me?” “No. But I noticed there’s a lot of cleaning going on in the house. I asked Rue what was going on, and she said we’re expecting company.” “My sisters and their families always come to King’s Castle to visit during the Fourth of July holiday.” “Now I remember. You said something about that the first day—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to think back to the day he had met Belinda, when they had shared a special moment in time together. He had been trying desperately over the past couple of weeks to treat her like the stepmother she was. It wasn’t working. All he had to do was take a breath around her, and his body surged to life. He had given her things to do that would keep them apart, but once her family arrived they would be forced into social situations together. It would be hell pretending in front of her family that he didn’t want her. “When does your family start arriving?” “Tomorrow.” Faron took off his hat, forked his fingers through his hair and tugged the hat back on again. “You could have given me a little more warning.” “Why? There’s nothing you need to do. Madelyn and Rue and I will take care of everything.” If he’d had more warning maybe he could have figured out a reason to be gone from the ranch during their visit. If he left now it would look like he was running. Faron wasn’t the kind of man to run from trouble. Not that he necessarily sought it out, either. But he could see trouble coming. Still, some good might come of this visit. He would have a chance to ask Belinda’s family some of the questions she had refused to answer. “I’m looking forward to meeting your sisters.” Belinda smiled. “It’ll be hard not to trip over them, since they’ll all be staying at the house.” By sundown the next day Faron realized that Belinda hadn’t been exaggerating. Her three sisters, Dori, Tillie and Fiona, had all arrived. Dori had come with her husband, Bill, and three daughters under seven years of age. Tillie was also married. She and her husband, Sam, had two boys, five and nine. Fiona was still single, but she had brought her Abyssinian cat, Tutankhamen, Tut for short. There were trucks on the floor, dolls on the chairs and screaming children chasing each other and the cat up and down the stairs. When they all sat down to dinner it was chaos. It reminded Faron of home. Of the days when his mother had still been alive, and he and his brothers had argued at the table while their parents refereed. He felt his stomach twist when he realized that the picture he remembered hadn’t been exactly as it had seemed. Had his father’s eyes been sad as they met his mother’s across the table? Had there been any hesitancy in the way his father had lifted him up into his arms and held him in his lap? He couldn’t remember. Whatever his father had felt about raising another man’s child hadn’t been evident in the way Faron had been treated. He had felt loved, had known he was loved. By a woman who had been faithless to his father in conceiving him. By a man who had overlooked the foreign blood that ran in his veins. He sat back and listened to the children around him and searched for the warm memories he knew he would find. “Mom, Travis threw a pea at me!” “Travis, stop throwing food at Peter.” “Dad, make Jennifer stop kicking the table.” “Jennifer, that’s enough. Eat.” “Daddy, Trisha spilled her milk.” “I did not!” “It’s all over your dress.” “Is not!” “Is, too!” “Is not!” “Penny! Trisha! That’s enough from both of you. Can’t we have a little peace and quiet here?” No, Faron thought. There would be no peace and quiet until the kids had been put to bed. But he didn’t mind. And he could see that Belinda didn’t mind, either. In fact, the look in her eyes was decidedly soft—and yearning. He remembered what Belinda had said about wanting children. He wondered why she and his father hadn’t given him stepbrothers and stepsisters. Suddenly he was fiercely, selfishly glad that Belinda hadn’t borne his father’s children. Even if it meant she had no child to hold to her breast during this family reunion. Because he wanted to be the one to give her those children. Until that moment Faron hadn’t realized how deep his feelings for Belinda ran. He had known, of course, that he desired her physically. When he looked at her now it was with the knowledge that she was the one woman he was meant to spend his life with. With a sense of awful frustration he conceded that the unique relationship that had brought them together was equally likely to be what kept them apart. Faron turned his gaze on Belinda. She had settled Jennifer, the youngest of Dori’s daughters, in her lap and was playing patty-cake with the child. The smile on Belinda’s face was easily as broad as the little girl’s. When Jennifer threw her hands wide, Belinda tossed her head back to keep from getting hit. And met Faron’s eyes. He made no effort to hide what he was feeling. At first her expression softened. She shared with him the joy of holding the baby in her arms. As he continued staring, she lowered her lids and hid those expressive violet eyes from him. But it was too late. He had already seen the need, the desire, the yearning for a child of her own. “Time for baths,” Tillie announced. “Aw, Mom!” “Jeez, Mom!” “I want to play some more.” Faron listened to all the complaints knowing that they were being made in vain. The children’s parents slowly but surely herded their offspring up the stairs. He wasn’t surprised when Belinda took advantage of the opportunity to escape with them. Madelyn excused herself to check on Rue, who had apparently found another bottle this afternoon. That left Faron sitting at the table with Belinda’s youngest sister, Fiona. Fiona had a pixie face, and from what Faron had seen, a puckish sense of humor. She was blond and blue-eyed, but considerably shorter than her eldest sister. She had a figure that curved in all the right places. If Faron had met her before Belinda, he might even have been interested in getting to know her better. Fiona picked up her wineglass and walked down the length of the table to take a chair across from Faron. “I guess you and I are the only ones without someone to bathe.” She paused and added with a come-hither smile, “Unless you’d like me to scrub your back?” “No thanks,” Faron said, returning the smile. “Thank goodness.” “Pardon?” Fiona’s smile turned into a grin. “I was just checking. I mean, I saw the way you stared at Belinda all night. You wouldn’t be the right kind of guy for her if you were willing to hustle me the minute her back was turned.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” “Oh, I’m still not sure you’re what she needs.” “And what is that?” Fiona’s blue eyes bored into him. Her hands fisted on the table. “Someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her. Someone who would make her happy.” “She wasn’t happy with my father?” Fiona gave an unladylike snort. “Not hardly.” Faron waited for her to say more. He didn’t have to wait long. “Wayne Prescott abused my sister. Oh, not so much physically. Although I know he hit her once or twice. But he crushed her spirit. Or at least he tried. Toward the end Belinda learned to hide what she was feeling, and he left her alone.” Faron felt a rage such as he had never known directed at a man who was beyond his reach. “Why didn’t she leave him?” “I asked her the same question. She said they had made a deal, and she owed him her loyalty.” “What kind of deal?” Fiona’s eyes were bleak. “Belinda sold herself to get the money to take care of us. Me and Dori and Tillie. When she married Wayne he established a substantial trust fund in each of our names. Dori went to UCLA and fell in love with Bill. Tillie married the doctor who put the cast on the broken leg she got skiing in Colorado. I bought a bed and breakfast in Vermont. Belinda got nothing. Except marriage to Wayne. “Of course, all of us were too young to realize what she was doing when she did it. She told us she was in love with Wayne, and during the first couple of years they got along pretty well.” “What happened then?” “Wayne started to gamble. He lost big. He took it out on Belinda. He kept her like a prisoner here, wouldn’t let her go anywhere. I guess he was afraid she wouldn’t come back. If it hadn’t been for Madelyn, she probably would have left him.” “What does Madelyn have to do with anything?” “You’ve seen them together. Madelyn treats Belinda like the daughter she never had, and Belinda returns her affection. They both tried to curb Wayne’s excesses. Sometimes I think if Belinda hadn’t been there, Wayne might have taken out his frustrations on his mother.” “Not the best father figure a man could have.” “I’m sorry. I forgot he was your father. But he wasn’t really, was he? I mean, someone else raised you. You’re certainly nothing like Wayne from what I’ve seen today.” “The question is whether Belinda sees my father when she looks at me,” Faron said. “I don’t see how she could,” Fiona said. “You don’t look a thing like him. You don’t act like him, either. Wayne mostly thought about himself. From things Belinda has told me about you—” “Belinda talked to you about me?” Fiona shrugged. “She just told me you were Wayne’s son.” Belinda had revealed a whole lot more about her feelings for Faron Whitelaw through what she had not said. But Fiona wasn’t about to give away Belinda’s secrets to the cowboy. She would keep her eyes open over the next couple of days and make her own judgment about whether Faron deserved a chance with Belinda. “Guess I’d better go see if I can help get things settled upstairs. I’ll be down later to help with the dishes,” Fiona said. Faron looked around him and realized everything was still sitting on the table. With Rue sleeping off her latest binge there was no one to handle such details. “I’ll take care of it,” Faron said. Thus, when Belinda came downstairs she found the table cleared, the leftovers put away and Faron wiping down the counters with a sponge. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/joan-johnston/hawk-s-way-collection-faron-and-garth-hawk-s-way-garth-hawk/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.