Woman Hater

CHAPTER TWO

The room Mary led Nicole into was delightful. It had pink accents against a background of creamy white, complete with a canopied bed and ornate mirror and even a small sitting area with pink, satin-covered chairs.

“This was their mother’s room,” Mary said. “Pretty, yes?”

“Are you sure I was meant to go in here?” Nicole asked hesitantly.

“Oh, yes, very sure. Mr. Winthrop said so.” She winked at Nicole without smiling. “With his hands, you see.”

Nicole shook her head. “He seems very …” She turned, shrugging as she tried to find words.

“His path has not been an easy one,” Mary told her. Those dark eyes were sizing her up while she spoke. “Gerald was the favorite. He was a gentle, easy child. Winthrop was forever in trouble, always fighting, always in turmoil. He was the eldest, but not the most loved. And then came her. She with the blond hair and city ways, who was like a clear morning to me, and I saw through her. But Winthrop could not see through to the greed that motivated her. She crippled him and left him.”

Nicole searched the smooth old face quietly. “He hides,” she said perceptively.

Mary smiled. “You see deep.”

“I know a survival instinct for what it is,” came the quiet reply. “We all hide inside ourselves when we’ve been hurt.” She met the dark eyes levelly. “I won’t hurt him.”

“I see deep, too,” Mary mused. “He won’t let you close enough to do harm. But watch yourself. He has no love for women. He might take out old wounds on you.”

“I’m a survivor,” Nicole said, laughing. “I’ll manage. But thank you for the warning.”

Mary only nodded. “Come down when you are ready. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat a moose,” the younger woman sighed.

“Lovely idea. I have moose in the freezer. How would you like it? Baked, fried or in a stew?”

Nicole burst out laughing. “I love stew.”

“Me, too.” Mary grinned and left her.

Nicole put on a pair of faded jeans with a long-sleeved, gray knit shirt, because the air was chilly, and her pink sneakers and went downstairs without bothering to fix her makeup or comb her hair. She wasn’t trying to catch any eyes, after all, so why irritate Winthrop by making it look as if she were making a play for him?

There was no one around, so she went outside and found a comfortable seat on the porch swing. It was peaceful. Birds twittered and somewhere a dog barked. Farther away, cattle were lowing. Nicole closed her eyes as the breeze washed around her. Heaven.

“I see you’ve found the swing.”

She jerked upright as Winthrop came out onto the porch. He was bareheaded, still in the jeans and blue-checked shirt he’d worn to the airport. He’d taken time to shave, because his face was dark and smooth now, with the hairline white scar more visible without the stubble of a beard to hide it.

“I like swings,” she said. Her pale green eyes wandered over him. He was terribly attractive without his jacket. Muscles rippled in his long legs when he walked, in his arms when he lifted them to light a cigarette. Despite his size, there wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him. He looked lean and fit and a little dangerous, despite the faint limp when he moved toward her.

“Deer come up into the yard sometimes,” he observed. He dropped into a big rocking chair and crossed his long legs. “Moose, elk … it’s still pretty wild here in the valley. That’s why we attract so many bored Eastern sportsmen. They come here to hunt and pretend to ‘rough it’ but they’ve lost something that mountain people have all their lives. They’ve lost hope.” He glanced down at her. “I hate rich people.”

She felt as if he knew something, but she was afraid to bring the subject out into the open. “I’m not rich,” she said, and it was the truth. “But I thought you were.”

It was the wrong thing to say. His dark eyes kindled and his face took on the sheen of stone. “Did you?” he asked deliberately, and the mockery in his face was daunting. “Was that why you came with Gerald, or is it his money you’re after?”

“You don’t understand—” she began.

“I understand women all too well,” he returned coldly. He moved away from her without another word, almost colliding with Gerald, who was coming out of the house as he was entering it.

“Sorry, Winthrop,” Gerald murmured, curious about the expression on his brother’s face. “I was looking for Nicky.”

“I’m out here, Mr. Christopher!” she called.

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m Gerald here,” he said shortly, joining her with a resigned glance over his shoulder as the door slammed behind Winthrop. He looked even younger in jeans and a pullover shirt. Nicky moved over to make room for him on the swing, and struggled to regain her lost poise. Winthrop was going to make her life miserable, she just knew it, and her stupid careless remark had provoked him. “Mr. Christopher was my father,” Gerald continued, “and he was Mister Christopher, too,” he added with a faint smile. “Our mother was on a camping trip up here. She wandered off and he found her. He nursed her back to health and she left, thinking that was the end of it.”

“Was it?” Nicole asked.

Gerald laughed. “No. As a matter of fact, Dad followed her all the way to New York, found her at some social gathering, picked her up and carried her to the train station and brought her here. Eventually, to save her reputation, she agreed to marry him.”

“I guess he was used to getting his own way,” Nicky mused, and in her mind’s eye she could see Winthrop doing exactly the same thing. Her fine skin flushed just a little at the unexpected thought.

“They were happy together,” Gerald said. “She died one spring of pneumonia. He died six months later. They said it was a heart attack, but I’ve often wondered if it wasn’t loneliness that did it.” He paused for a moment, then said suddenly, “I’m sorry Winthrop’s so inhospitable.” He glanced at Nicole’s quiet face. “You aren’t afraid of him, are you? If you are, don’t ever let him see it. He’s a good man, but he’s pretty hard on women.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” she said. And she meant it. She wondered if there was any chance that he found her as disturbing as she found him. That didn’t bear thinking about.

“You must miss all this in Chicago,” Nicole said, looking up at her boss.

“I miss this, and other things,” he replied. He stared at a house far on a hill in the distance, his eyes narrowed and unexpectedly sad. “Sadie Todd lives over there,” he said absently, “with her invalid mother. We’ll have to go and visit her while we’re here.”

“She was nursing at the general hospital, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. She had to give up her job and come home when her mother had a stroke. Mrs. Todd is completely paralyzed on one side and doesn’t seem to want to get any better. Sadie said she couldn’t leave her at the mercy of strangers. Her father is dead.”

She knew almost to the day when Sadie had left, because Gerald Christopher had withdrawn into a tight little shell afterward and seemed to walk around in a fog. He’d put enough pressure on himself thereafter to give him that ulcer. But it had surprised her that he wanted to come home, because he worked like a Trojan all the time lately. She was almost sure that Sadie was the reason he felt the need of a month’s vacation in Montana. She smiled to herself.

“I’d like very much to go and see her,” she said.

He smiled down at her. “You’re a nice person, Nicole.” He got up. “I’m going to make a few phone calls. Just sit and enjoy the view, if you like.”

“Yes, sir,” she promised.

He went inside, and she lounged in the swing until Mary called her to have a sandwich. She sat in the spacious kitchen, enjoying a huge ham sandwich and a glass of iced tea while Mary prepared what promised to be the world’s largest moose stew. They talked about the ranch and the country and the weather, and then Nicole went out the back door and wandered down to the river, just to look around.

She could imagine this country in the years of the Lewis and Clark expedition. She’d read a copy of their actual journal, enjoying its rather anecdotal style, seeing the country through their eyes in the days before supersonic jets and superhighways. Trappers would have come through here, she mused, kneeling beside the river with her eyes on the distant peaks. They’d have trapped beaver and fox and they’d have hunted.

Kentucky had its own mountain country, and Nicole had been in it a few times in her life. It had been a different setting then. Elegance. Parties. Sophisticated people. Wealth. She sat down on a huge rock beside the river and tore at a twig, listening to the watery bubble of the river working its way downstream. She much preferred this kind of wealth. Trees and cattle and land. Yes.

“Daydreaming?”

She turned to find Winthrop Christopher sitting astride a big black stallion, watching her.

“I like the river,” she explained. “We have one in Chicago, of course, but it’s not the same. We have concrete and steel instead of trees.”

“I know. I’ve been to Chicago. Even to the office, in fact.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

She did. Even that brief glance had stamped him onto her memory, but it wouldn’t do to let him know that. She avoided a direct answer. “It’s always hectic. I don’t pay a lot of attention to visitors, I’m afraid.”

“The morning I came, you were sitting at that computer with a stack of steno pads at your elbow and a telephone in your hand. You barely looked up when I went into Gerald’s office.” He smiled mockingly. “I was wearing a suit. Maybe I looked different.”

“I can’t quite imagine you in a suit, Mr. Christopher,” she said, thinking, top that, cattle king.

“Winthrop,” he corrected. “I’m not that much older than you. Eleven years or so. I’m thirty-four.”

“How old is your brother?” she asked, curious.

He lifted his chin. “Thirty.”

“Sometimes he seems older,” she mused. “When they call the stockholders’ meetings, for instance.”

He glanced into the distance. “No doubt. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with those damned things. That’s Gerald’s sole province now. I just run my ranch, and the only stockholder I have to please is myself. Gerald doesn’t own enough shares to squabble over the decisions I make.”

“You inherited the ranch, didn’t you?”

He stared at her for a minute, and she swallowed hard, sure that he was going to give her some sarcastic financial rundown and chide her for asking. But, surprisingly, he didn’t. He just nodded. “That was the way my father wanted it. He knew I’d hold it as long as I lived, no matter what. You’ll find that Gerald isn’t terribly sentimental. He’d just as soon have a photograph as the object itself.”

She pursed her full lips and studied him. “I’ll bet you saved bobby pins and bits of ribbon when you were a teenager,” she said daringly, just to see what he’d say.

He blinked, then laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I had my weak moments when I was younger,” he agreed. His eyes darkened. “Not anymore, though, Kentucky girl. I’m steel right through.”

She wouldn’t have touched that line. She turned, glancing at the distant ribbon the river made running into those towering, majestic peaks. “I was thinking about Lewis and Clark,” she murmured, glancing toward the horizon, so that she didn’t catch the look on his face. “A man died during the expedition. What they described sounded just like food poisoning. They wouldn’t have known, of course. How much we’ve learned in over a hundred years. How far we’ve come. And yet,” she said softly, “how much we’ve lost in the process.”

“The expedition went down the Missouri and Jefferson rivers,” he said slowly. “We’re on a tributary of the Jefferson, so they may have camped in this valley.” He looked away. “They used to call it Buffalo Flats. The buffalo are gone, though. Like the way of life that existed here long ago.” He shifted restlessly. “Where’s Gerald?”

“Back at the house, I suppose,” she said, bothered by the curtness of his tone. “He said he had some important phone calls to make. I would have stayed, but he said we wouldn’t work today.”

“Want a ride back?” he offered, and then seemed to withdraw, as if he regretted the words even as he was speaking them.

Some devilish imp made her smile at him. “Suppose I say yes?” she asked, driven to taunt him. “You look as if you’d rather sacrifice the horse than let me on him.” And she grinned, daring him to mock her.

He felt a burst of light, but he wouldn’t give in to it. “Damn you.”

She grinned even more. “I won’t accept, if you’d rather not let me aboard. Anyway—” she shuddered with deliberate mockery and more sarcasm than he could know, because she’d practically grown up on horses “—I’d probably fall off. It looks very high.”

“It is. But I won’t let you fall off. Come on.” He kicked his foot out of the stirrup and held down a long arm, giving in to an impulse he didn’t even understand. He wanted her closer. He wanted to hold her. That should have warned him, but it didn’t.

He had enormous feet, she noticed, as she put a foot in the stirrup and let him pull her up in front of him. He was amazingly strong, too.

She hadn’t realized how intimate it was going to be. His hard arm went around her middle and pulled her back against a body that was warm and strong and smelled of leather and spice. She felt her heart run away, and that arm under her breast would feel it, she knew.

“Nervous?” he asked at her ear, and laughed softly, without any real humor. “I’m not dangerous. I don’t like women, or haven’t they filled you in yet?” She’s a woman, he was reminding himself. Watch it, watch yourself—she’ll sucker you in and kick you down, just like the other one did.

“Yes, I’m nervous,” she said. “Yes, you’re dangerous, and you may not like women, but I’ll bet they chase you like a walking mink.”

His eyebrows arched. “You’re plainspoken, aren’t you?” he asked, gathering her even closer as he urged the restless stallion into motion, controlling him carefully with lean, powerful hands and legs.

“I try to be,” she said, still uneasy about the double life she’d led since leaving Kentucky. To a man who’d been betrayed once, it might seem as if she were misleading him deliberately. But the past was still painful, and she’d forsaken it. She wanted it to stay in the past, like the bad memories of her own betrayal. Besides, there was no danger of Winthrop becoming involved with her. He was too invulnerable.

She held on to the pommel, her eyes on his long fingers. “You have beautiful hands, for a man,” she remarked.

“I don’t like flattery.”

“Suit yourself, you ugly old artifact,” she shot right back.

It had been a long time since anything had made him laugh. But this plain-faced, mysterious woman struck a chord in him that had never sounded. She brought color and light into his own private darkness. He felt the sound bubbling up in his chest, like thunder, and then overflowing. He couldn’t hold it back this time, and the rush of it was incomprehensible to him.

She felt his chest shaking, heard the deep rumble of sound from inside it. She would have bet that he didn’t laugh genuinely very often at anything. But she seemed to have a knack for dragging it out of him, and that pleased her beyond rational thought.

The lean arm contracted, and for an instant she felt him in an embrace that made her go hot all over. What would it be like, she wondered wildly, if he turned her and wrapped her up in his embrace and put that hard, cruel mouth over hers….

She tingled from head to toe, her breath catching in her throat. It shouldn’t have been like this, she shouldn’t still be vulnerable. She had to stop this, or it was going to be an unendurable month.

“Watch out, Miss White,” he said at her ear, his voice deep and soft and dangerous. “Save the heavy flirting for Gerald. You’ll be safer that way.”

He let her down at the porch, holding her so that she slid down to the ground. For an instant his dark face was very close, so close that she saw his dark eyes at point-blank range and something shot through her like lightning. She pulled back slowly, her eyes still linked to his. What had he said? Something about flirting with Gerald. But why should she want to flirt with her boss?

“See you.” He wheeled his stallion and rode off, and she watched him with mingled emotions.

Supper was an unexpectedly quiet affair. Winthrop was out when she and Gerald sat down to eat, along with the ranch foreman, Michael Slade, a burly man of thirty who seemed perfectly capable of handling anything.

“Boss said he wouldn’t get back in time for chow,” Michael told Gerald with a grin. “Had to go into Butte for some supplies he needed. I offered, but he said he had some other things to do as well.”

“Odd that he didn’t do it before he met us at the airport.” Gerald sighed as he took his medicine and glared at his plate. The doctor had told him that they didn’t treat ulcers with bland diets anymore, but Mary hadn’t believed him. Amazing, how disgusting green pea soup looked in a bowl, and he did hate applesauce. He glanced at Mary, sighed and then gave in to her, as he had done even as a child. He picked up his spoon and began to sip the soup. “Oh, well, that’s Winthrop. Unpredictable. How’s it going, Mike?”