He reined in his horse and leaned across to grasp her reins, stopping the gray. “Look,” he said directly, his dark eyes unreadable in the shadow of his black hat. “I need sex. I’m a normal, healthy man. But I control my needs, they don’t control me. I don’t want Ricky. I want you. I’ll wait...for a while.”
Sudden fury gave her back her voice and she pushed his hand away from her reins. “And then what?” she spat. “Will you go roaming like a tomcat?”
He moved swiftly, his gloved hand darting out and catching her by the back of the neck. “I won’t have to roam,” he crooned on a dangerously silky note. “I know exactly where your bedroom is.” She opened her mouth to yell at him and he leaned over, catching the hot words with his mouth as he brought her closer to him, the steely hand on her neck holding her just where he wanted her.
Cathryn shuddered with hot, soft reaction, her lips shaping themselves to the movement of his, tasting the coffee flavor of his mouth, as she allowed his tongue entrance. His free hand squeezed gently on her breasts, then began to trace a wandering path down her stomach. She was helpless to stop him, not even thinking of stopping him, her body waiting pliantly for his intimate touch. But his horse took exception to the situation and danced away from the gelding, forcing Rule to release her and secure his seat again. He quieted the stallion with a murmur, but his eyes seared her with dark fire. “Don’t take too long making up your mind,” he advised softly. “We’re wasting a lot of time.”
She watched in helpless confusion as he rode away from her, his tall body moving in perfect rhythm with the powerful horse. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She thought of going back to the house, but the memory of how lost and miserable she had been the day before sent her riding after Rule. At least when she was with him she was able to look at him, to secretly savor the thrill she got whenever she saw him. The need she felt for him was so strong that it was almost an obsession, an illness. It had kept him constantly in her thoughts even though they were separated by years and hundreds of miles, and now that he was so close she was driven by the compulsion to watch him.
For the remainder of the week she rode by his side, taking every step he took, riding endless miles until she ached in every muscle and every bone. Yet a combination of pride and stubbornness kept her from either complaining or giving up. She was well aware that he knew the discomfort she suffered. Too often she caught a gleam of amusement in his dark eyes. But Cathryn wasn’t a complainer, so she bore it all silently and every night took comfort from the bottle of liniment that had become a fixture on her nightstand. She could have remained at the house, but that had no attraction at all for her. Riding with Rule had its rewards, despite the physical punishment she was taking, because she had the delight of secretly feasting her eyes on him all day long.
In any case, she became absorbed in the grinding routine that was part of every day on the ranch. After her one trip to pick up supplies, Rule didn’t suggest again that Cathryn run any errands for him. He rolled her out of bed every morning before dawn, and by the time the first gray light had appeared they were in the saddle. If he rode fence, she rode fence; if he moved horses from one pasture to another, so did she. Rule turned his hand to every chore on the ranch, disdaining nothing, and she realized more fully than ever before why he had the respect and uncomplaining obedience of every man who worked there.
She was astounded at his stamina. She did none of the physical work that he did, merely followed in his tracks, and by the end of the day she was so tired that she could scarcely stay in the saddle on the ride back to the house. But Rule’s shoulders were as straight at the end of the day as they had been at the beginning, and she often saw the admiring, respectful looks that the men gave him. He wasn’t a straw boss. He did everything he asked the men to do, and in addition he oversaw the completion of everything else. Lewis Stovall was his right-hand man, almost sullenly quiet, but so capable that often Rule had only to nod his head in a certain direction and Lewis knew exactly what he wanted. Remembering her accusing words when she had discovered that Lewis was the foreman, she felt ashamed; even with Lewis’s help, Rule still did the work of two men.
The horses were Rule’s special concern, though in no way did he neglect any other aspect of the ranch. The horses were treated with intense care. No injury, regardless of how slight, was allowed to go untreated. No illness was ignored, and anything that concerned their comfort was done without question. He often exercised the stallions himself and the spirited animals were better behaved with him than with the other men entrusted with their exercise.
Cathryn would sit on the fence and watch him with the stallions, almost dying with envy because she wanted to ride one of the beautiful animals so much, but Rule adamantly refused to let her near them. Though she sulked, she accepted his edict because she knew how valuable they were, and she admitted that if one of them decided not to obey her, she wasn’t strong enough to force her will on him. The stallions were always kept carefully separated from each other and never exercised at the same time, not only to prevent fights but to keep them calm. A rival in the vicinity upset the blooded stallions even if things didn’t progress to a fight.
Rule reminded her of his stallions; but he behaved himself scrupulously during those days, not even stealing a kiss, though she sometimes caught his gaze lingering on her lips or the thrust of her breasts against the cotton shirts she wore. Though she knew that he was waiting to hear her decision, she didn’t even try to make up her mind during those days; she was having fun, and in addition to that she was so tired at the end of the day that she didn’t feel like indulging in any soul searching. She was doing exactly what she had wanted: being with him, learning him. But Rule was far too complicated for only a few days to give her any insight into him.
The breeding pens were also off limits to her, another edict she didn’t argue with. Though Ricky was apparently completely at ease there, for once Cathryn wasn’t jealous of her. Even if Rule didn’t care to protect Ricky, he did extend that care to Cathryn, and she was glad. She was too sensitive, too attuned to Rule’s sensuality, to be comfortable with the actual breeding. So one day while Rule was occupied in the pens she returned to the house for a rare hour of relaxation. But after sitting for a few minutes feeling her aching muscles slowly unknot, she began to feel guilty for doing nothing while Rule was still working. Then the happy thought that she could relieve him of some of the paperwork occurred to her and she made herself comfortable in the study. After a rapid look though the stacks of correspondence and bills that littered the desk, she realized that he was surprisingly well organized. All of the bills were current. But then, how else would it be? Rule was efficient in everything he did. Only the past couple of days’ worth of mail hadn’t been opened, but he had been working late and hadn’t had a chance to catch up on the paperwork. Satisfied with her choice of occupations, Cathryn sorted the mail into a stack that was addressed to Rule personally, and another stack of bills, which was gratifyingly small, proof that the ranch was on solid ground.
Swiftly she opened the bills and studied them: bills for grain; bills for fencing; utility bills; bills for the mountain of supplies that were needed to keep the ranch running; veterinary bills that seemed astronomical to her. Apprehensive again, she opened the ledger and pulled it to her, wondering if there would be enough to pay these bills and still have enough for the ranch hands’ salaries. Her finger moved to the balance column and ran down it to the last figure.
Stunned, she stared at it for a full minute, unable to believe her eyes. Was the ranch doing that well? She had somehow gotten the impression that the ranch was solid but not rich, able to provide a good living but not a luxurious one. How could she reconcile that idea with the figure that stared her in the face, that figure written in Rule’s bold, slashing hand? If all the profits were turned back into the operation, what accounted for this?
A sudden chill raced down her spine and she flipped through the bills again. Why hadn’t she notic
ed the first time? Why hadn’t she picked up on the hint that she had received in town? Every one of those bills was in Rule Jackson’s name. Knowing what she would find, she hunted for the checkbook and instead found a ledger of checks, all of them bearing the name Rule Jackson, and beneath that the legend: Bar D Ranch.
All of that proved nothing, she told herself sternly. Of course his name was on the checks. He signed them, didn’t he? Yet she got up and went in search of Monica, who had been trustee until Cathryn reached her twenty-fifth birthday, and whose name should have been on those checks.
“Oh, that,” said Monica in a bored tone, waving her hand. “I signed control of the ranch over to Rule years ago. Why not? As he pointed out, he was just wasting time by having to come to me for decisions.”
“You should have told me!” Cathryn said sharply.
“For what reason?” Monica demanded just as sharply. “You were going away to college, so you weren’t going to be here anyway. If you were all that concerned, why did you wait until now to come home?”
Cathryn couldn’t tell her that; instead she returned to the study and sat down heavily, trying to get it straight in her mind. So Rule had had direct control of the ranch and her money for all of these years. Why did that alarm her? She knew he hadn’t cheated her. Every cent would be accounted for. She simply felt betrayed in some way that she hadn’t yet figured out.
If Monica had signed control over to Rule before Cathryn had gone away to college, it had to have been during that summer when she was seventeen. She had decided to attend college at the last minute, torn between the agony of leaving her home and the almost uncontrollable fear she’d had of Rule. Having always considered that sexual scene by the river to be her fault, she had been afraid of her own body and the way it responded to him. But now...had he made love to her deliberately? He had already had control of the ranch, but he would have known that it was only a temporary control and could come to an abrupt halt when she came of age. The next logical move was to bring her under his control, too, to dominate her so completely that she would never try to wrest the ranch away from him.
She didn’t want to think that. She felt sick, distrusting him so much when he had worked so hard. But, damn it, it wasn’t just the ranch that she was concerned with! She had herself to think of! Was she letting herself fall for a man who saw her only as a means to an end, a way of finally making the ranch really, completely his? He knew her better than any other person on earth knew her. He knew that he could control her with his sensual magic. No wonder her demand that he stay away from her had rattled him so badly! She had really thrown his plans off!
Taking a deep breath, Cathryn tried to halt the wild thoughts that were circling madly in her mind. She couldn’t be certain of that. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for now. If only she knew what went on in his head! If only he would talk to her, tell her if the ranch was more important to him than anything else. She would understand. Rule had gone through hell, and she couldn’t blame him if the ranch had become a sanctuary that he wanted to cling to. The idea was incongruous in a way. He was so strong. Why would he need a sanctuary? But he wouldn’t talk about what he had experienced, wouldn’t let anyone else share that burden with him, so she really had no idea what he felt about the ranch or anything else.
She wasn’t prepared to face him when the door opened suddenly, nor was she prepared for the black rage that swept over his face when he saw the ledger open on the desk. “What are you doing?” he snarled softly.
A calmness born out of a numbing certainty that her worst fears had been correct enabled her to stay in her chair and face him, and give her voice its even tone when she said, “I’m looking at the books. Do you have any objections?”
“I might, especially when you act like you’ve been trying to catch me cheating you. Do you want to hire an accountant to go over things to make certain I’m not finagling? You’ll find that every penny is right where it should be, but go ahead.” He paced around the side of the desk and stood looking down at her, his dark eyes hard. Glancing sideways, she saw that he was gripping his hat so tightly that his knuckles were white.
Abruptly she slammed the ledger shut and jumped to her feet, pain blooming inside her so acutely that she couldn’t sit still any longer. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze head on. “I’m not worried that you’ve taken any money; I know better than that. I was just...surprised to find that everything is in your name. Monica isn’t even a figurehead any longer, and hasn’t been for years. Why wasn’t I told? You’d think I’d be aware of what goes on with my ranch, or at least I should be.”
“You should have been,” he agreed. “But you weren’t.”
“What about now?” she challenged. “I’m involved now. Shouldn’t all of this be changed over into my name? Or have you begun to believe all of the talk in town about ‘Rule Jackson’s spread’?”
“So change it!” he said violently, and a sudden sweep of his hand sent the ledger crashing to the floor. “It’s your damned ranch and your damned money; do whatever you want with it! Just don’t whine to me because I kept the place running while you never bothered to even ask how it was doing!”
“I’m not whining!” Cathryn yelled, shoving at the stack of bills and sending them fluttering to the floor. “I want to know why you never told me that Monica had signed control of the ranch over to you!”
“Maybe I don’t have a reason! Maybe I just never thought of it! I’ve been working like a slave for years. I haven’t had time to chase you down every time some little something came up. Do I have your permission to pay the hands, Mrs. Ashe? Will it be all right if I write a check to pay for the fencing, Mrs. Ashe?”
“Oh, go to hell! But before you do, tell me why there’s so much money in the balance column when you’ve gone out of your way to make me think that there was no extra, that all the profits had been turned back into the ranch?”
One of his hands shot out, and he clamped it on her upper arm, holding her in a grip that would leave the imprint of his hand on her flesh. “Do you have any idea how much money it takes to run a stud?” he ground out. “Do you know what a good stallion costs? We’ve been breeding quarter horses, but we’re branching out into Thoroughbreds and we need two more stallions, more brood mares. You can’t charge them on your credit card, baby! It takes a hell of a lot of money on hand to—Hell!” he suddenly snarled. “Why should I explain anything to you? You’re the boss, so you can do what you damned well please with it!”
“Maybe I will!” she yelled, wrenching her arm away from his punishing fingers. Despite her best efforts, tears glistened in the darkness of her eyes as she stared up at him for a moment; then she whirled and ran from the room before she could disgrace herself by really crying.
“Cat!” she heard him call as she closed the door, but she didn’t return. She went upstairs to her room and carefully locked the door, then settled in the rocking chair with a spy thriller that she held in her hands but didn’t—couldn’t—read. She refused to give way to tears, though occasionally a lump formed in her throat and she had to struggle with herself. It was a waste of time to cry. She just had to accept things as they were.
Rule’s violent reaction at finding her going through the books meant only one thing to her: He didn’t want her to know how the ranch operated because he didn’t want her to take over any of his authority. Despite his accusation she knew that he was bone-deep honest and she sensed that he didn’t really think she suspected otherwise. No, he had attacked her because Rule was a good warrior and he knew the most important rule of combat: Be the first to strike.
So he was something of a fanatic about the ranch, she tried to reason with herself. At least she could depend on him to do the best thing, rather than look for a way to line his own pockets. It was just that she wanted him to think as much of her as he did of the ranch.... Not more, she wouldn’t ask that, but simply to care for her and the ranch equally.
She had thought that t
hey had grown closer during these last days; even when they had snapped at each other she had been aware of a bond between them and had known that he felt it too. It had been more than a sexual bond, at least for her. Though she never looked at him without remembering in some small corner of her brain the intensity of his lovemaking, she had felt close to him in other ways. So much for daydreams, she thought, letting the book drop to her lap. Hadn’t she learned yet that Rule was a difficult man to read?
* * *
Though she was awake early the next morning, she didn’t go downstairs to have breakfast with him and spend the day by his side. Instead she remained in bed until she knew that he had gone, then spent the day giving the upstairs a good cleaning, more to keep herself busy than because the house was in dire need of it. She avoided Rule at lunch, too, though she heard Ricky’s laughter wafting upward and knew that her stepsister was keeping him company. So what if she was?
After Cathryn’s own hurried lunch, eaten while standing in the kitchen after Rule had returned to the range, she returned to her cleaning. She had left Rule’s room for last, and she was stunned when she entered it to find herself so moved by his lingering presence. His warm male scent seemed to fill the room. The pillow was still dented where his head had rested. His bed looked like a war had been fought on it. The clothing he had worn the day before had been dropped to the floor and probably kicked out of the way. Nothing else could have produced such a tangle of shirt, shorts, jeans and socks.
She had restored the room to order and was polishing the oak furniture when Ricky came in and draped herself across the bed. “The housewifely bit won’t impress him,” she drawled.