The Cowboy and the Lady

“More like a shield and some armor,” she countered, hiding her nervousness behind humor.

He didn’t laugh. “You haven’t changed,” he observed. “Still the little clown.” His narrowed eyes slid down her body indifferently. “Why did you come back here?” he demanded abruptly, cold steel in his tone.

“Because Duncan insisted.”

He scowled down at her. “Why? You only work for Black.”

“I’m his partner,” she replied. “Didn’t you know?”

He stared at her intently. “How did you manage that?” he asked contemptuously. “Or do I need to ask?”

She saw what he was driving at and her face flamed. “It isn’t like that,” she said tightly.

“Isn’t it?” He glared at her. “At least I offered you more than a share in a third-class business.”

Her face went a fiery red. “That’s all women are to you,” she accused. “Toys, sitting on a shelf waiting to be bought.”

“Tess isn’t,” he said with deliberate cruelty.

“How lovely for her,” she threw back.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down his arrogant nose at her. There was a strange, foreign something behind those glittering eyes that disturbed her.

“You’re thinner,” he remarked.

She shrugged. “I work hard.”

“Doing what?” he asked curtly. “Sleeping with the boss?”

“I don’t!” she burst out. She looked up into his dark face, her own pale in the blazing light of the crystal chandelier. “Why do you hate me so? Was the bull so important?”

His face seemed to set even harder. “A grand champion, and you can ask that? My God, you didn’t even apologize!”

“Would it have brought him back?” she asked sadly.

“No.” A muscle in his jaw moved.

“You won’t…you won’t let your dislike of me prejudice you against the agency, will you?” she asked suddenly.

“Afraid your boss might lose his shirt?” he taunted.

“Something like that.”

He cocked his head down at her, his hard mouth set. “Why don’t you tell me the truth? Duncan didn’t invite you down here. You came on your own initiative.” He smiled mockingly. “I haven’t forgotten how you used to tag after him. And now you’ve got more reason than ever.”

She saw red. All the years of backing away dissolved, and she felt suddenly reckless.

“You go to hell, Jace Whitehall,” she said coldly, her brown eyes throwing off sparks as she lifted her angry face.

Both dark eyebrows went up over half astonished, half amused silver eyes. “What?”

But before she could repeat the dangerous words, Terry’s voice broke in between them.

“Oh, there you are,” he called cheerfully. “Come back in here and keep us company. It’s too early to turn in.”

Jace’s eyes were hidden behind those narrowed eyelids, and he turned away before Amanda could puzzle out the new look in them.

“Off again?” Marguerite asked pleasantly. “Where are you taking Tess?”

“Out,” he said noncommittally, reaching down to kiss the wrinkled pink cheek. “Good night.”

He pivoted on his heel and left them without another word, closing the door firmly behind him.

Terry stared at Amanda. “Did I hear you say what I thought I heard you say?”

“My question exactly,” Marguerite added.

Amanda stirred under their intent stares and went ahead of them into the living room. “Well, he deserved it,” she muttered. “Arrogant, insulting beast!”

Marguerite laughed delightedly, a mysterious light in her eyes that she was careful to conceal.

“What is it with you two?” Terry asked her. “If ever I saw mutual dislike…”

“My mother once called Jace a cowboy,” Amanda replied. “It was a bad time to do it, and she was terribly insulting, and Jace never got over it.”

“Jace took to calling Amanda ‘lady,’“ Marguerite continued. She smiled at the younger woman. “She was, and is, that. But Jace meant it in another sense.”

“As in Lady MacBeth,” Amanda said. Her eyes clouded. “I’d like to cook him a nice mess of buttered toadstools,” she said with a malicious smile.

“Down, girl,” Terry said. “Vinegar catches no flies.”

Amanda remembered what Marguerite had said about Tess, and when their eyes met, she knew the older woman was also remembering. They both burst into laughter, dissolving the sombre mood memory had brought to cloud the evening.

But later that night, alone in her bedroom, memories returned to haunt her. Seeing Jace again had resurrected all the old scars, and she felt the pain of them right through her slender body. Her eyes wide open, staring at the strange patterns the moonlight made on the ceiling of her room, she drifted back to that Friday seven years ago when she’d gone running along the fence that separated her father’s pasture from the Whitehalls’ property, laughing as she jumped on the lower rung of the fence and watched Jace slow his big black stallion and canter over to her.

“Looking for Duncan?” he’d asked curtly, his eyes angry in that cold, hard face that never seemed to soften.

“No, for you,” she’d corrected, glancing at him shyly. “I’m having a party tomorrow night. I’ll be sixteen, you know.”

He’d stared at her with a strangeness about him that still puzzled her years later, his eyes giving nothing away as they glittered over her slender body, her flushed, exuberant face. She’d never felt more alive than she did that day, and Jace couldn’t know that it had taken her the better part of the morning to get up enough nerve to seek him out. Duncan was easy to talk to. Jace was something else. He fascinated her, even as he frightened her. Already a man even then, he had a blatant sensuousness that made her developing emotions run riot.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he’d asked coldly.

The vibrant laughter left her face, draining away, and some of her nerve had gone with it. “I, uh…I wanted to invite you to my party,” she choked.

He studied her narrowly over the cigarette he put between his chiseled lips and lit. “And what did your mother think about that idea?”

“She said it was fine with her,” she returned rebelliously, omitting how hard she’d had to fight Bea to make the invitation to the Whitehall brothers.

“Like hell,” Jace had replied knowingly.

She’d tossed her silver-blond hair, risking her pride. “Will you come, Jason?” she’d asked quietly.

“Just me? Aren’t you inviting Duncan as well?”

“Both of you, of course, but Duncan said you wouldn’t come unless I asked you,” she replied truthfully.

He’d drawn a deep, hard breath, blowing out a cloud of smoke with it. His eyes had been thoughtful on her young, hopeful face.

“Will you, Jace?” she’d persisted meekly.

“Maybe,” was as far as he’d commit himself. He’d wheeled the horse without another word, leaving her to stare after him in a hopeless, disappointed daze.

The amazing thing was that Jace had come to the party with Duncan, dressed in immaculately stylish dark evening clothes. He looked like a fashion plate, and, to Amanda’s sorrow, he was neatly surrounded by admiring teenage girls before he was through the door. Most of her girlfriends were absolutely beautiful young debutantes, very sophisticated and worldly. Not at all like young Amanda, who was painfully shy and unworldly, standing quietly in the corner with her blond hair piled on top of her head. Her exposed throat looked vulnerable, her pink lips soft, and her brown eyes stared wistfully at Jace despite the fact that Duncan spent the evening dancing attendance on her. She’d looked down at her green-embroidered white organdy dress in disgust, hating it. The demure neckline, puffed sleeves and full, flowing skirt hadn’t been exciting enough to catch and hold Jace’s eye. Of course, she’d told herself, Jace was twenty-five to her sixteen, and probably wouldn’t have been caught dead looking at a girl her age. But her heart had ached to have him notice her. She’d danced woodenly with Duncan and the other boys, her eyes following Jace everywhere. She’d longed to dance just one dance with him.

It had been the last dance, a slow tune about lost love that Amanda had thought quite appropriate at the time. Jace hadn’t asked her to dance. He’d held out his hand, and she’d put hers into it, feeling it swallow her fingers warmly. Even the way he danced had been exciting. He’d held her young body against his by keeping both hands at her waist, leaving her hands to rest on his chest while they moved lazily to the music. She could still smell the expensive oriental cologne he’d been wearing, feel the warmth of his tall, athletic body against the length of hers as they moved, sense the hard, powerful muscles of his thighs pressed close to her even through the layers of material that made up her skirt. Her heart had gone wild in her chest at the proximity. New, frightening emotions had drained her, made her weak in his supporting arms. She’d looked up at him with all her untried longings plain in her eyes, and he’d stopped dancing abruptly and, catching her hand, had led her out onto the dark patio overlooking the night lights of Victoria.

“Is this what you want, honey?” he’d asked, crushing her against him with a curious anger in his voice. “To see how I rate as a lover?”

“Jace, I didn’t—” she began to protest.

But even as she opened her mouth to speak, his lips had crushed down on it, rough and uncompromising, deliberately cruel. His arms had riveted her to the length of him, bruising her softness in a silence that had combined the distant strains of music with the night sounds of crickets and frogs, and the harsh sigh of Jace’s breath with the rustle of clothing as he caught her ever closer. His teeth had nipped her lip painfully, making her moan with fright, as he subjected her to her first kiss and taught her the dangers of flirting with an experienced man. With a wrenching fear, she’d felt his big, warm hand sliding up from her waist to the soft, high curve of her breast, breaking all the rules she’d been taught as he touched and savored the rounded softness of her body.

“It’s like touching silk,” he’d murmured against her mouth, drawing back slightly to stare down at her. “Look at me,” he’d said gruffly. “Let me see your face.”

She’d raised frightened eyes to his, pushing at his hand in a flurry of outrage and embarrassment. “Don’t,” she’d whispered.

“Why not?” His eyes had glittered, going down to the darkness of his fingers against the white organdy of her bodice. “Isn’t this why you asked me here tonight, Amanda? To see if a ranch hand makes love like a gentleman?”

She’d torn out of his arms, tears of humiliation glistening in her eyes.

“Don’t you like the truth?” he’d asked, and he laughed at her while he lit a cigarette with steady fingers. “Sorry to disappoint you, little girl, but I’ve gone past ranch hand now. I’m the boss. I’ve not only paid off Casa Verde, I’m going to make a legend of it. I’m going to have the biggest damned spread in Texas before I’m through. And then, if I’m still tempted, I might give you another try.” His eyes had hurt as they studied her like a side of beef. “You’ll have to round out a bit more, though. You’re too thin.”

She hadn’t been able to find the right words, and Duncan had appeared to rescue her before she had to. She’d never invited Jace to another party, though, and she’d gone to great lengths to stay out of his way. That hadn’t bothered him a bit. She often suspected that he really did hate her.

* * *

That night, Amanda slept fitfully, her dreams disturbed by scenes she couldn’t remember when she woke up early the next morning. She dragged herself out of bed and pulled on the worn blue terry-cloth robe at the foot of her bed, her long blond hair streaming down her back and over her shoulders in a beautiful silver-blond tangle that only made her look prettier. She huddled in the robe in the chill morning air that blew the curtains back from the window. She’d opened it last night so that she could drink in the fresh clean country air.

A knock at the door brought her to her feet again from her perch on the vanity bench, and she yawned as she padded barefoot to the door. Her eyes fell sadly to the old robe, remembering satin ones she used to own that had dainty little fur scuffs to match. Her shoulders shrugged. That life was over. It was just a dream, washed away by the riptide of reality.

She opened the door, expecting Maria, and found Duncan grinning down at her, brown-eyed and boyish.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said merrily.

“Duncan!” she cried, and, careless of convention, threw herself into his husky arms. They closed around her warmly and she caught the familiar scent of the spice cologne he’d always worn.

“Missed me, did you?” he asked at her ear, because he was only a couple of inches taller than she was—not at all as towering and formidable as Jace. “Not even a postcard in six months, either.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” she murmured.

“Why not? It wasn’t my bull you ran over.” He chuckled.

“No, it was mine,” came a rough voice from behind Duncan, and Amanda stiffened involuntarily.

Tugging away from Duncan, she shook back her wealth of soft, curling hair and glared at Jace’s set face. He was dressed for work this morning, in expensively cut but faded jeans and a gray shirt that just matched his cold, narrow eyes. Atop his head was the old black Stetson.

“Good morning, Jace,” she said with chilling sweetness. “So sorry I forgot my manners yesterday. I haven’t thanked you for your warm reception.”

Jace threw up an eyebrow, and there was something indefinable in the look he gave her. “Don’t strain yourself, Lady.”

Her face burned. “My name is Amanda. Or Miss Carson. Or hey, you. But don’t call me Lady. I don’t like it.”

One corner of Jace’s hard mouth went up in a taunting smile. “Brave in company, aren’t you? Try it when we’re alone.”

“Make sure your insurance is paid up first, won’t you?” she said, smiling venomously.

“Now, friends,” Duncan interrupted, “this is no way to start off a beautiful morning. Especially when we haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Haven’t we?” Amanda asked. “Your brother’s had two bites of me already.”

Jace cocked his head at her and his eyes sparkled dangerously, like sun on ice crystals. “Careful, honey. I hit back.”

“Go ahead,” she challenged bravely.

“On my own ground,” he said with the light of battle kindling in his face. “And in my own time.” He looked from Amanda to Duncan. “What came out of the meeting?”

“Jenkins is interested,” the younger man replied with a smile. “I think I hooked him. We’ll know tomorrow. Mean-while, has Black explained what the ad agency can do for us on that Florida development?”

“Briefly, but not in any detail,” Jace replied.

“What do you think?” Duncan persisted, his brown eyes questioning Jace’s gray ones.

Jace stared back. “I’ll have to hear more about it. A hell of a lot more.”

“Sounds like we’re in for a long week.” The younger man sighed.

“It may be too long for some of us,” came the curt reply, and a pair of silvery eyes cut at Amanda. “And if Lady here doesn’t get that chip off her shoulder, Black can damned well take his proposal back to San Antonio without my signature on any contract.”

Amanda hated him for that threat. It was all the more despicable because she knew he meant it. He’d carry his resentment of her over into business, and he was ruthless enough to deny Terry the account out of sheer spite. Jace never bluffed. He never had to. People always came around to his way of thinking in the end.

“Now, Jace,” Duncan began, mediating as always.

“I’ve got work to do,” Jace growled, pivoting on his booted heel. “Come on down to the Kennedy bottoms when you’ve had breakfast and I’ll show you the young bull I bought at the Western Heritage sale last week.”

“Can I bring Amanda?” Duncan asked with calculating eyes.

Jace’s broad shoulders stiffened. He glanced back angrily. “I’d like to keep this one,” he said curtly, and kept walking.

Amanda’s face froze. She glared at the long, muscular back with pure hatred. “I wish he’d fall down the stairs,” she muttered.

“Jace never falls,” he reminded her. “And if he ever did, he’d land on his feet.” He grinned down at her. “My, my, how you’ve changed. You never used to talk back to him.”

“I’m twenty-three years old, and he’s not using me for a doormat anymore,” she replied with cool hauteur.

Duncan nodded, and she thought she detected a hint of smugness in his eyes before they darted away. “Get dressed and come on down,” he told her. “I’m anxious to hear about the ad campaign you and Black have worked up.”

“Do Tess and her father have to see it, too?” she asked suddenly.

“Tess!” he grumbled. “I’d forgotten about her. Well, we’ll cross that bridge later. Jace and I have a bigger investment than the Andersons, so we’ll have the final say.”

“Jace will side with them,” she said certainly.

“He might surprise you. In fact,” he added mysteriously, “I’d bet on it. Get dressed, girl, time’s a-wasting!”

She saluted him. “Yes, sir!”

* * *

Later in the day, Duncan took his guests out for a ride around the ranch on horseback, taking care to see that Terry—an admitted novice—got a slow, gentle mount.

The ranch stretched off in every direction, fenced in green and white, with neat barns and even neater paddocks. It was a staggering operation.

“Jace’s computer stores records on over a hundred thousand head,” Duncan told Terry as they watched the beefy Santa Gertrudis cattle graze, their rich red coats burning in the sun. “We’re fortunate enough to be able to run both purebred and grade cattle here, and we have our own feed-lot. We don’t have to contract our beef cattle out before we sell them. We can feed them out right here on the ranch.”

Terry blinked. Ranch talk was new to him, but to Amanda, who knew and loved every stick and horn on the place, it was familiar and interesting.

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