The Passionate Lover
‘When can we get out of here?’ she asked abruptly.
He shrugged, very relaxed as he leant back in his chair. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.'
Shelby gave him a sharp look. ‘What do you mean?'
He tilted his head towards the door. ‘Hear that?’ he quirked dark brows.
‘The wind?’ she frowned.
‘The wind,’ he nodded mockingly. ‘The weather report forecast it will continue all night, possibly during tomorrow too.’ He gave her a meaningful look. ‘And while the wind keeps howling we keep sitting here.'
Shelby had gone very pale, swallowing hard. ‘You mean we could be—be snowed in here?'
‘I mean we already are snowed in here. Even if another drop of snow doesn't fall we're still stuck.'
‘There's no need to be sarcastic—–'
‘There's every need, damn you!’ Suddenly the relaxed pose had gone, to be replaced by a man full of fury, a fury that made his eyes glitter dangerously. ‘I don't have the time to spare to come chasing after a stupid idiot like you, let alone spend days out here baby-sitting!'
‘Baby-sitting!'
‘You heard me,’ he rasped. ‘You have no idea how to fend for yourself—–'
‘It isn't exactly a wilderness!'
‘No?’ He stood up, pulling her roughly to her feet, his calloused hand digging painfully into her nape as he dragged her over to the window to throw back the shutters. ‘Look out there,’ he ordered through gritted teeth. ‘And tell me what it is if it isn't a wilderness.'
She wanted to protest that he had no right to treat her this way, that even if he didn't like her he could at least treat her with a little respect. But the sight that met her eyes silenced any protests she might have made over his rough handling. Although the wind still raged the snow had stopped falling, and every way that she looked a deep white blanket stretched into the distance, no familiar landmarks in sight, just snow and more snow wherever she looked.
‘I had no idea…’ she breathed softly, in awe of the terrifying beauty outside.
‘Of course you didn't,’ he scorned, releasing her to resecure the shutters. ‘Like I said, you're a complete novice when it comes to surviving in conditions like this.'
Once again his contempt angered her. ‘And I suppose you're an old hand at it?’ she challenged recklessly.
Kyle folded muscled arms across his broad chest. ‘Let's put it this way,’ he drawled. ‘Which one of us, do you think, has the most chance of surviving out here alone?'
She flushed at his taunt. ‘That's an unfair question, you were born here—–'
‘Exactly,’ he nodded grimly. ‘So why don't you just bow to the inevitable and let me make the decisions from now on?'
‘That's something you're good at, isn't it?’ she was stung into retorting, not used to being treated as if she had less intelligence than a child. ‘Kyle Whitney gives the orders and everyone jumps to obey.'
His eyes narrowed to steely slits. ‘And that bothers you?'
‘No, it doesn't bother me,’ she flushed. ‘I just don't intend being another of the yes-men you surround yourself with—–'
‘Or women,’ he drawled mockingly.
‘Or women,’ she snapped irritably. ‘You chose to come looking for me, I didn't ask you to.'
‘Your sort never asks for anything, Mrs O'Neal,’ he bit out contemptuously. ‘But they take readily enough when something is offered to them.'
Shelby stiffened at his intended insult. ‘What are you implying I've “taken"?'
‘Kenny sent you the airline ticket to come out here, didn't he?’ Kyle reminded scathingly.
The plane ticket had been in Kenny's letter immediately after he had received her letter telling him she would go out for a visit. It hadn't been something she had asked for or needed, well able to pay her own airfare. But she had seen it as a gesture of Kenny's love. She certainly hadn't thought anyone would view her as a money-grasping mercenary because of it. Kyle Whitney didn't know how wrong he was!
‘You're wrong about me, Mr Whitney—–'
‘Am I?’ he derided harshly. ‘I don't think so. You're a young and attractive widow, and you came out here thinking Kenny would be a gullible meal-ticket.'
‘No—–'
‘Oh yes,’ he insisted coldly, his mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘When Kenny came back from England extolling the virtues of a beautiful widow I had some misgivings. When he dropped the girl he had been dating since high school because of you I knew I was right to be worried. But I thought time and distance would dull his memory of you, that he would soon get over the infatuation. But you didn't intend for him to do that, did you. Oh no, you wrote to him almost every day—–'
‘Twice a week,’ she defended indignantly.
The coldness of his gaze scorned her. ‘Whatever. It was enough to ensure that he didn't forget you, and that's the point I'm trying to make.'
Shelby had never been subjected to such injustice in her life before. Kyle Whitney didn't know the first thing about her, and yet he presumed to be her judge and jury on the insubstantial evidence he had picked up here and there about her. ‘Kenny is hardly a child that you need to—–'
‘He's two years younger than you are.'
She hadn't forgotten that fact; it had been one of the reasons she had been reluctant to become involved with him in the first place. But he had easily over-ruled that objection, and once she got to know him she hadn't really thought the two years mattered either. But as far as Kyle Whitney was concerned it was just another black mark against her. And his condemnation was unfair. Kenny had finished with his childhood sweetheart before leaving for London the previous year, and if his cousin didn't know that then it wasn't her fault, Kenny certainly didn't have to tell the older man everything. And she may have written to Kenny twice a week, but he had written much more than that, more like the every day Kyle Whitney had accused her of doing.
‘—although thank God he seems to have gotten over that now,’ Kyle rasped.
Shelby suddenly realised she had been so deep in thought she had missed this last scathing comment. ‘Sorry?’ she prompted with a frown.
‘You might well look concerned.’ The ghost of a smile creased the hard face.
He was a man who smiled little, she had learnt that over the last few weeks. The only time he seemed to relax was when he was out working with the men on the ranch. ‘Could you explain what you just said?’ She still frowned, puzzled by what he was trying to tell her.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Doesn't the fact that Kenny isn't one of the people out looking for you speak for itself?’ he drawled.
Shelby felt her heart give an uncomfortable lurch, watching Kyle with disbelieving eyes as he poured himself another mug of the strong coffee, almost as if he hadn't just dealt her a terrible blow emotionally. ‘Is he hurt in some way?’ she demanded, concerned.
Even white teeth gleamed against the mahogany skin as Kyle gave another brief, humourless smile. ‘I guess after the way he's been running around after you since you got here it must be pretty difficult for you to accept or understand that he just didn't want to look for you.'
‘Why?’ she asked through stiff lips, knowing that no matter how much this man may dislike her, he wouldn't lie to get her out of Kenny's life. But if what he was saying was true…!
Kyle sipped the coffee. ‘The argument you had must have been really something,’ he looked at her admiringly. ‘Or maybe he was just too disgusted after the way you walked off like that.'
‘But I—–'
‘It was a damn fool thing to do,’ he growled, the harshness back. ‘Even if you were mad at Kenny.'
‘But—–'
‘And when we get out of here I'll give you the hiding you deserve for doing it,’ he added grimly. ‘You might not have been found until the spring.'
Shelby gave up all effort of trying to defend herself. ‘The spring?’ she echoed dazedly.
He looked at her steadily. ‘When the thaw comes.'
She felt herself blanch as his meaning became clear. Although she was also concerned as to how he had got the impression she and Kenny had argued; it simply wasn't true. And yet he said Kenny hadn't helped look for her. She didn't understand any of this.
CHAPTER TWO
‘MR Whitney—–'
‘I believe Kenny decided days ago it was to be Kyle,’ he rasped dismissively, moving with that minimum of movement that was so natural to him. ‘Now are you capable of helping me get us something for dinner? If not perhaps you could find some cutlery to put on the table.’ He was already engrossed in the contents of the tins in the cupboards over and under the sink.
‘I can cook, Kyle—–’ She snapped her resentment at his assumption that she didn't know one end of a kitchen from the other.
‘Thank God for small mercies.’ He gave her a look that implied he thought she was good for little else.
Shelby was well aware of how she must appear to him. A little over five feet in height, with gleaming red-gold hair just past her shoulders, a beautiful face dominated by thickly lashed green eyes, her slender figure shown to perfection in the dark green cashmere sweater and tightly fitting denims, he must be cursing the day she had walked into his life, must wish he hadn't come looking for her either!
‘Kyle, about Kenny—–'
‘He was on his way to see Wendy when I last saw him,’ he dismissed with cruel honesty.
Wendy Seymore was Kenny's old childhood sweetheart, Shelby knew that, she had even met the other girl on one occasion, an embarrassingly awkward time when Wendy had made no secret of her dislike of Shelby. In the circumstances she hadn't been able to blame the other girl, but she found it hard to believe that Kenny had left her out in the blizzard while he went to visit the other girl on her father's neighbouring ranch. It didn't sound like the Kenny she knew and loved. There had to be a logical explanation for his behaviour. If only she could think of one!
‘Look at this practically, Shelby.’ Surprisingly Kyle's voice had softened a little as he noticed her pained preoccupation. ‘You've had a free two-week holiday in Montana. It's more return than a lot of Women get.'
Her mouth firmed. ‘If you're implying what I think you are, Mr Whitney,’ the formality seemed perfectly fitting in the circumstances! ‘I can assure you that I haven't been paid for services rendered!’ Two angry spots of colour darkened her cheeks.
His calculating gaze moved over her with slow thoroughness, from the tip of her gleaming head to the boots on her feet, his eyes darkening as they encountered the latter. ‘You should have taken those off,’ he bit out accusingly. ‘They're wet through! I bet your denims are too,’ he added questioningly. ‘It's a little difficult to tell when they already fit so—snugly,’ he said derisively.
She knew the disparaging comment was warranted, but when she had done her shopping for this trip back in London these clothes had seemed ideal for the climate while still remaining feminine. She had only realised the absurdity of them when the denims were too tight for her to sit astride the horse Kenny had persuaded her to ride, the boots too high-heeled for her to walk with any degree of composure over the uneven ground of the Double K yards.
But Kyle was right about the denims being damp, the snow having been up to her thighs in places. Although what he expected her to do about the situation she didn't know. He must be as wet as she was, and neither of them had a change of clothes available. He soon had an answer to that!
‘I suggest you take off your clothes before you catch pneumonia,’ he continued at her silence.
‘Certainly not!'
‘And wrap up in a blanket until they dry,’ he added over her outraged comment.
‘There aren't any blankets,’ she told him with almost triumphant spite.
With a pitying glance in her direction he moved to the chests that stood beneath the two lower bunks, pulling them out to display more quilts like the one he had placed over her earlier, and also blankets and sheets, enough for all four of the bunk beds.
‘Help yourself,’ he stood up. ‘But for God's sake hurry up and get out of those wet clothes.'
‘You're as wet as I am!’ The way his own denims clung to the lean length of his muscular legs hadn't escaped her notice.
‘And I intend doing something about it as soon as I have you sorted out.'
‘I'm not a child—–'
‘Then quit acting like one!’ he suddenly exploded with temper, running one lean hand through the thickness of his dark hair. ‘Look, we're both tired, after being out in that how could we be anything else! I for one am too tired to argue with you about something as trivial as wet clothing. I'm also hungry, and when I'm hungry my temper gets frayed.'
‘You can say that again!’ she snapped, wishing he would stop talking down to her all the time.
‘And, obviously, so does yours,’ he added with pointed sarcasm.
She had the grace to look abashed. ‘I am a little damp,’ she admitted softly. ‘Hungry too.'
‘Then the sooner you undress the sooner we can eat,’ Kyle wasn't prepared to give an inch. ‘I'll make up the fire, you can change here,’ he added impatiently as she made no effort to move while he stood there watching her, striding across the room to begin throwing logs on the fire, his back firmly turned towards her, rigid with displeasure.
‘Er—–'
‘What is it now?’ His impatience was coming to boiling point as he turned to glare at her.
‘The bathroom,’ she explained reluctantly, embarrassed at having to ask him about something so personal.
‘There isn't one,’ he derided.
‘I know that,’ she flushed as he deliberately misunderstood her. God, she wasn't stupid enough to think there would actually be a bathroom out here! ‘I don't want a bath, I'm asking where the—–'
‘It's outside,’ he finally took pity on her discomfort. ‘At the side of the cabin. This place wasn't built to be used as a winter home,’ he told her without apology for the fact that she had to go out in the cold once again. ‘It's used for a few weeks in the spring and summer, there's no reason to have the bathroom inside. The food is kept in stock here just in case,’ he added grimly.
‘In case some irresponsible woman goes and gets herself lost,’ Shelby finished tersely, knowing that was what he had been implying.
‘Exactly,’ he nodded abruptly. ‘Take one of the lamps with you,’ he instructed. ‘I'd hate you to wander off and get lost again.'
She bit back the angry retort that hovered on the edge of her lips, knowing that anything she had to say would only give him the opportunity to make yet another blistering condemnation of her. Besides, her very real need for the bathroom was more important at the moment, and after pulling on her hat, jacket and gloves she picked up the lamp to leave.
‘It's to the right,’ Kyle suddenly told her, when he had appeared to be taking no notice of her.
Shelby flashed him a grateful look, almost knocked back inside by the freezing cold wind that hit her as soon as she opened the door. The snow may have stopped falling for the moment but the wind howled on like a demented demon, driving her back as she fought her way to the small wooden building next to the cabin. By the time she had battled her way there and then back again she was beginning to wonder if it was worth it, feeling more exhausted than ever.
Kyle was still sitting where she had left him when she turned from forcing the door closed, although he frowned as he looked up at her. ‘Did you fall?’ he rasped, standing up.
The way he was moving towards her made her back up against the door, her eyes wide.
‘For God's sake,’ he bit out harshly. ‘I'm not so desperate that I would resort to forcing myself on a woman who, at the moment, resembles the attractions of a drowned rat!’ His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘You have a cut on your head, I merely wanted to take a look at it.'
Shelby felt very young and very stupid at that moment. Which was ridiculous! She was a very capable and successful busineswoman in London, her age and widowed status precluding her being young. But she would be the first to admit that she was out of her element in this situation, that although she disliked Kyle Whitney intensely, hated the way he constantly reminded her how stupid she had been to get lost in the way that she had, she was very grateful that he was here. But she knew he didn't feel the same way, that he didn't find her in the least attractive, as she didn't him, but her nerves were at such a taut pitch her recoil from him had been instinctive rather than intentional.
‘I'm sorry,’ she muttered as he examined her right temple with surprisingly gentle fingers. ‘And I think I probably got that when I fell into the cabin earlier.'
His mouth twisted with derision where it was on a level with her eyes, but the scathing comment she had been expecting didn't come. Instead he concentrated on the cut. ‘It doesn't look too bad, although the skin is broken. I'll clean it up for you once you have those wet clothes off.’ He stepped back.
She hadn't realised just how close he was standing until the warmth of his body was removed, feeling a sudden shiver through her body. ‘Get undressed,’ Kyle mistook the shiver for one of cold, turning back to the fire to give her what privacy he could in the close confines of the cabin.
Her clothes clung to her damply as she peeled them off, making the task doubly difficult, the cold seeming to have seeped into her very bones, the blanket she wrapped around her sarong-wise saving her modesty but giving little real warmth. It was also rough and abrasive against her skin. And she didn't even have a brush for her hair. Reaction suddenly began to set in, and she sat down heavily on one of the beds as the tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Everything had seemed so wonderful until today. She couldn't have been happier, was marrying the man she loved; Kenny had even decided they should live in London after the wedding, dispelling her worries about the salon. Now she had got lost in the snow, had been told Kenny no longer wanted to marry her, and was stranded in a primitive cabin with no clothes but what she had been wearing, with a man who made no attempt to hide the fact that he despised her.
It was all too much, too sudden, and the tears fell unchecked, the sound of her sobbing finally causing Kyle to turn and look at her. ‘What the—–!’ He was across the room in two strides, sitting down beside her on the bed, pulling her into his arms, her face buried against his chest. ‘What is it, Shelby?’ he asked gruffly. ‘Tell me what's wrong?'
The man must be an insensitive clod if he didn't know. ‘Everything,’ she sniffed miserably.
‘Hey, we'll be all right. We'll be out of here in a few days, and then—–'
‘A few days!’ she wailed, crying harder than ever.
‘I'll see that you don't starve.’ He mocked the appetite the mountain air had given her the last weeks, having eaten as much as any man.
‘It isn't that,’ she choked, seeming to have trouble stopping the tears now that they had started.
‘Then what is it?’ His voice hardened. ‘Are you afraid you won't be able to survive here without the—companionship, my cousin has been providing?'
The insult was completely unwarranted, and her tears dried immediately. ‘For your information, Mr Whitney,’ she said icily, pushing him away from her, ‘I have slept alone every night since my arrival here.'
‘Why?'
‘W—why?’ she echoed in a puzzled voice. ‘I don't know what you mean.'
He shrugged. ‘Kenny would have been more than willing to share your bed. And I'm sure that some of my men wouldn't be averse to it either,’ he added mockingly.
She flushed her indignation, her near hysteria of a few moments ago all but forgotten. ‘You keep referring to them as “your” men in that arrogant way,’ she snapped to hide how deeply he had wounded her with his assumption. She had heard all the old clichés about young widows since her husband had died, the most popular crudely being ‘once you've had it you can't do without it', but she had only ever had one lover in her life, and that had been Gavin. She hadn't been in any hurry to replace him on the intimate side of her life, and not being a very sensual person herself she hadn't found that too difficult. Unlike some people, she didn't believe life, and happiness, revolved around the physical.
Kyle raised dark brows at her criticism. ‘Shouldn't I?'
The argument was ridiculous, she could see that. They were stuck here, possibly for several days—she refused to think it could be any longer than that!—and to argue about such a trivial matter when their lives could ultimately be in jeopardy was fruitless. ‘This is stupid.’ She stood up with impatient movements, the blanket securely in place. ‘We're alone out here, and somehow we have to survive, any unpleasantness between us is pointless.'
For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then he too stood up. ‘I'll put something on your forehead.'
‘It doesn't really hurt—–'
‘No senseless arguments, remember?’ he mocked, as he opened the full medicine cabinet kept in the kitchen area.
She stood perfectly still while he administered to the cuts on her forehead, doing her best not to look up at him, although it wasn't easy in the circumstances. A faint aroma of male aftershave clung to his skin, and with this came the realisation that he already had more than just a five o'clock shadow. Obviously he was one of those men who needed to shave twice a day.
‘You'll have to grow a beard,’ she said inconsequentially, blushing as he looked down at her with taunting grey eyes. And for someone who rarely blushed she was doing it a lot lately. Somehow this man had the power to make her feel incredibly young, gauche almost. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.
‘I guess I can stand that if you can,’ he drawled.
‘What do you mean?’ she frowned.
He finished putting the adhesive tape in place. ‘I've been told that a beard doesn't suit me.'
She felt sure that it wasn't so much that it wouldn't suit him; it would just cover too much of that ruggedly handsome face, would make him look almost demonic. ‘I can stand it,’ she muttered, turning away. ‘I'll get our dinner now.'
She was aware of those watchful grey eyes on her as she worked, was unaware of how attractive she looked with her hair soft about her makeupless face, the blanket revealing more of the perfection of her body than she realised—or would have wanted had she known.
Now that they had decided not to argue they seemed to have little to say to each other, the impromptu stew she had made from the tinned meat and dried vegetables eaten in silence.
‘You really can cook,’ Kyle said appreciatively after downing two platefuls. ‘We could do with you out here at branding time, Charlie is the worst cook I know.'
She gave the ghost of a smile at his attempt at light conversation, exhaustion making her slow to react to what she knew was a standard joke at the Double K. Everyone made derogatory remarks about Charlie Peterson's cooking, but Shelby had a feeling it was done more out of affection for the old man than from any real truth. ‘Your aunt told me she taught him herself,’ she said as she cleared the table of their crockery, putting it in the soapy water she had boiled.
Kyle grimaced. ‘That statement should speak for itself.'
Helen Whitney was one of the best cooks she had ever met; now she knew the jokes were only teasing. Kenny's mother ran the ranch-house with an iron will that matched that of her nephew, and Shelby had come to like her very much.
‘Let me do this,’ Kyle gently moved her away from the sink, his expression searching. ‘You look as if you're about all in. Get some sleep now, everything will seem different in the morning.'
She certainly hoped so, because everything seemed very bleak right now! Maybe tomorrow she would have the strength and mental capacity to ask him exactly what he had meant about Kenny. Right now she just wanted to sleep.