Against The Rules
“Are you asleep?” he asked now, drawing her back to the present, and Cathryn opened her eyes.
“No.”
“Then talk to me,” he demanded. Though she wasn’t looking, she could visualize his sensually formed mouth moving as he said the words. She had never forgotten anything about him, from the slow way he talked to the dark, slightly hoarse tone of his voice, as if his vocal cords were rusty from lack of use. He gave her a swift glance. “Tell me about your husband.”
Cathryn was startled, her dark eyes widening. “You met him several times. What would you want to know about David?”
“A lot of things,” he murmured easily. “Such as if he asked you why you weren’t a virgin when he married you.”
Bitter, furious, Cathryn choked back the words that tumbled to her lips. What could she say that he wouldn’t use against her? It’s none of your business? He would only reply that it was more his business than it was any other man’s, considering that he had been the one responsible for the loss of her virginity.
She tried not to look at him, but against her will she turned to him, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “He never asked,” she finally said in a quiet voice. Rule’s profile was etched starkly against the blueness of the sky, and her heart lurched; it brought painfully, vividly to mind that summer day when he had bent over her with the hot molten sun and brazen sky behind him, outlining him like a graven image. Her body tightened automatically in remembered response and she tore her gaze away from him before he turned and saw the rawness of her pain mirrored in her eyes.
“I would have asked,” he rasped.
“David was a gentleman,” she said pointedly.
“Meaning I’m not?”
“You know the answer to that as well as I do. No, you’re not a gentleman. You’re not gentle in any way.”
“I was gentle with you once,” he replied, his dark eyes moving over her with slow relish, tracing the curves of her breasts and hips and thighs. Again the hot tightening of her body warned her that she wasn’t indifferent to this man, had never been, and pain bloomed in her.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” As soon as the words left her mouth she wished they could be unsaid. The ragged panic in her tone made it evident to anyone with normal intelligence that she couldn’t treat that long-ago incident with the indifference that the years should have brought, and Rule was more intelligent and intuitive than most. His next words proved it.
“You can’t run forever. You’re not a kid now, Cat; you’re a woman.”
Oh, she knew that! He had made her a woman when she was seventeen, and the image of him had tormented her since, even intruded between her and her husband and cheated David out of the devotion that had been his due, though she would have died rather than let him guess that her response to him hadn’t been all it should have been. Nor could she tell Rule how deeply he had affected her life with what to him could have been only a casual coupling.
“I didn’t run away,” she denied. “I went to college, which is entirely different.”
“And came home on visits as seldom as you could,” he said with harsh sarcasm. “Did you think I’d attack you every time I saw you? I knew you were too young. Hell, I didn’t mean for it to happen anyway, and I was going to make damned sure the opportunity never came up again, at least until you were older and had a better idea of what it was about.”
“I knew what sex was!” she defied, not wanting him to guess how totally unprepared she had been for the reality of it, but her effort was useless.
“You knew what it was, but not what it was like.” The hard, stark truth of his words silenced her, and after a minute he said grimly, “You weren’t ready for that, were you?”
She drew a shuddering breath, wishing she had pretended to be asleep. Rule was like a blooded stallion: when he got the bit between his teeth there was no stopping him. “No,” she admitted raggedly. “Especially not with you.”
A hard smile curved his grim mouth. “And I took it easy on you. You really would have been scared out of your dainty little pants if I’d let myself go the way I wanted to.”
Twisting agony in her midsection made her lash out at him, hoping futilely that she could hurt him as he had hurt her. “I didn’t want you! I didn’t—”
“You wanted it,” he interrupted harshly. “You were in a redheaded temper and fighting me just for the sake of fighting, but you wanted it. You didn’t try to get away from me. You lit into me and tried to hurt me in any way you could, and somewhere along the line all that temper turned into wanting and you were wrapped around me like a vine.”
Cathryn winced away from the memory. “I don’t want to talk about it!”
Without warning he erupted into fury, into that deadly temper that smart people learned how to avoid. “Well, that’s just too damned bad,” he snarled thickly, switching the controls to automatic pilot and reaching for her.
She made an instinctive, useless effort to ward off his hands, and he brushed her fingers away with laughable ease. His fingers bit into her upper arms as he hauled her out of her seat until she was lying sprawled against him. His mouth was hard, hot, well remembered, the taste of him as familiar as if she’d never gone away. Her slim hands curled into fists and beat ineffectively at his shoulders, but despite her efforts at resistance she found that nothing had changed, nothing at all. A hot swell of sensual excitement made her heart beat faster, made her breath come in panting gasps, her entire body quiver. She wanted him. Oh, damn him, how she wanted him! Some curious chemistry in her makeup made her respond to him like a flower to sunlight, twisting, seeking, even though she knew he was no good for her.
His tongue probed slowly into her mouth and her hands ceased their beating to suddenly clasp his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles under her palms with instant delight. Pleasure was filling her, pleasure comprised of the taste and feel and smell of him, the slightly rough slide of his cheek against hers, the intimacy of his tongue on hers that vividly recalled a hot summer day when no clothing had been between them.
His anger was gone, turned into desire that glittered plainly in his dark eyes when he lifted his mouth just the fraction of an inch necessary to demand, “Did you ever forget what it was like?”
Her hands slipped up to his head, trying to pull him across that delicious, intolerable tiny space to her own mouth, but he resisted and her fingers wrapped in his silky, vibrant dark hair. “Rule,” she muttered huskily.
“Did you?” he insisted, and drew his head back when she tried to raise her own to allow her mouth to cling to his.
It didn’t matter; he knew anyway. How could he not know? One touch and she melted against him. “No, I never forgot,” she admitted in a whisper of sound that slid away into nothing as at last his mouth came down and crushed hers and she drank again of the sweet-tart freshness of him.
It was no surprise when she felt his long fingers close over her breast, then slide restlessly down her ribs. The thin silk of her sleeveless summer dress was no barrier to the heat of his hand, and she felt burned as his touch sleeked down her body to stop at her knee, then began a slow, stroking journey up her thigh, lifting her skirt, exposing her long legs. Then abruptly he halted, shuddering with the effort it cost him, and he removed his hand from her leg. “This is no place for making love,” he whispered hoarsely, lifting his mouth from hers and sliding his kisses to her ear. “It’s a miracle we haven’t already crashed. But I can wait until we’re home.”
Her lashes lifted to reveal dazed, slumberous dark eyes, and he gave her another hard kiss, then shifted her back into her own seat. Still breathing hard, he checked their position, then wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned back to her. “Now we know where we stand,” he said with grim satisfaction.
Cathryn jerked herself erect and turned her head to stare out at the sweeping ranchland below. Fool! she berated herself. Stupid fool! Now he knew just how powerful the weapon he had against her was, and she had no illusion that he would hesitate to use it. It wasn’t fair that his desire for her didn’t leave him as vulnerable as she was, but the basic fact was that his desire was simply that, desire, without any of the accompanying emotions or needs that she felt, while the mere sound of his voice submerged her into so many boiling needs and feelings that she had no hope of sorting them out and understanding them. He was so deeply associated with all the crises and milestones of her life that even while she hated and feared him, he was so much a part of her that she couldn’t fire him, couldn’t kick him out of her life. He was as addictive as a drug, using his lean, hard-muscled body and educated hands to keep his women under control.
I won’t be one of his women! Cathryn vowed fiercely, clenching her fists. He had no morals, no sense of shame. After all her father had done for him, as soon as Ward was in the grave, Rule had taken over. Nor was that enough. He had to have the ranch and Ward’s daughter too. In that moment Cathryn decided not to stay, to return to Chicago as soon as the holiday was over. Ricky’s problems were not hers. If Rule didn’t like the way things were, he was free to seek employment elsewhere.
Then they were circling over the sprawling, two-story frame house to signal their arrival to the ranch, and Rule banked the plane sharply to the left to line up with the small runway. She felt stunned at how little time it had taken to reach the ranch, but a glance at her watch told her that more time had elapsed than she’d thought. How long had she been wrapped in Rule’s arms? And how long had she been lost in her thoughts? When she was with him everything else seemed to fade out of her awareness.
A dusty red pickup came bouncing across the field to meet them as Rule took the plane in for a smooth, shallow landing; they touched down so lightly that there was scarcely a bump. Cathryn found herself looking at his hands, strong and brown and competent whether they were flying a plane, mastering a fractious horse or soothing a flighty woman. She remembered those hands on her body, and tried not to.
CHAPTER 2
As Cathryn went up the three steps to the porch that ran the width of the house she was surprised that Monica didn’t come out to greet her. Ricky didn’t come out, either, but she hadn’t really expected Ricky. Monica, on the other hand, had always at least kept up appearances and made a big show of affection when David was alive and visited with her. She opened the screen door and went into the cool dimness; Rule was right behind her with her luggage. “Where’s Monica?” she asked.
He started up the stairs. “God only knows,” he grunted, and Cathryn followed him with rising irritation. She caught him as he opened the door of the bedroom that had always been hers and went inside to drop the bags by the bed.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “Monica ranges far and wide these days. She’s never been too keen on the ranch anyway. You can’t blame her for hunting her own amusements.” He turned to leave and Cathryn followed him again.
“Where are you going?” she asked sharply.
He turned back to her with exaggerated patience. “I’ve got work to do. Did you have anything else in mind?” His eyes strayed to the bedroom door, then back to her, and Cathryn set her jaw.
“I had finding Monica in mind.”
“She’ll show up before dark. I noticed that the station wagon is gone, and she hates driving after dark, so she’ll be here by then unless she has an accident.”
“You’re so concerned!” Cathryn lashed out.
“Should I be? I’m a rancher, not a chaperon.”
“Correction: you’re a ranch foreman.”
For a moment his eyes flared with temper; then he damped it down. “You’re right, and as the foreman I have work to do. Are you going to stay here and sulk, or are you going to change clothes and come with me? There’ve been a lot of changes since the last time you were here. I thought you might be interested, boss.” He stressed the last word slightly, his eyes mocking her. He was the boss, and he knew it; he had been for so many years that many of the ranch hands had been hired since Ward’s death and had no loyalty to a Donahue, only to Rule Jackson.
She wavered for a moment, torn between her reluctance to spend any time in his company and her interest in the ranch. The years she had spent away had been an exile and she had suffered every day, longing for the vast spaces and the clean smell of the earth. She wanted to see the land, reacquaint herself with the things that had marked her earliest days. “I’ll go change,” she said quietly.
“I’ll wait for you at the stables,” he said, then let his eyes drift down the length of her. “Unless you’d like some company while you change?”
Her fierce “No!” was automatic, and he didn’t act as if he had expected any other answer. He shrugged and went down the stairs. Cathryn returned to her room and closed the door, then twisted her arms up behind herself to unzip the dress and take it off. For a moment she thought of Rule helping her with the zipper; then she shivered and wrenched her mind away from the treacherous idea. She had to hurry. Rule’s patience had a time limit.
She didn’t bother to unpack. She had always left most of her jeans and shirts there at the ranch. In Chicago she wore chic designer jeans; on the ranch she wore faded, worn jeans that were limp from use. She sometimes felt that when she changed clothes, she changed personalities. The chic, polished wife of David Ashe again became Cathryn Donahue, raised with the wind in her hair. As she stamped her feet into her boots and reached for the tan hat that she had worn for years, she became aware of a sense of belonging. She pushed the thought away, but pleasurable anticipation remained with her as she ran down the stairs and made her way out to the stables, pausing in the kitchen to greet the cook, Lorna Ingram. She was friendly enough with Lorna, but was aware that the woman looked on Rule as her employer and that that precluded any closeness between them.
Rule was waiting for her with outward patience, though his big-boned chestnut nudged him in the back and shifted nervously behind him. He also held the reins to a long-legged gray gelding, a horse Cathryn didn’t remember having seen before. Having been around horses all of her life she had no fear of them and rubbed the animal’s nose naturally, letting him learn the smell of her while she talked to him. “Hi, fella, you’re a stranger to me. How long have you been here?”
“A couple of years,” answered Rule, tossing the reins to her. “He’s a good horse, no bad habits, even-tempered. Not like Redman here,” he added ruefully as the chestnut nudged him again, this time with enough force to shove him forward several steps. He swung up into the saddle without offering to help Cathryn, a gesture she would have refused anyway. She was far from helpless on a horse. She mounted and urged the gray into a trot to catch up with Rule, who hadn’t waited.
They rode past the stables, and Cathryn admired the neat paddocks and barns, several of which hadn’t been there during her last visit. Money on the hoof either grazed without paying attention to them or sent soft, curious nickers their way. Playful, long-legged foals romped over the sweet spring grass. Rule lifted his gloved hand to point out a structure. “That’s the new foaling barn. Want to take a look at it?”
She nodded and they swung the horses’ heads in that direction. “There’s only one mare due right now,” he said. “We’re just waiting on her. The last few weeks have been busy, but we have a break now.”
The stalls in the foaling barn were airy and spacious and scrupulously clean; as Rule had said, there was only one occupant now. There in the middle of a large box stall stood a mare in a posture of such utter weariness that Cathryn smiled in sympathy. When Rule held out his hand and clicked his tongue, the mare walked to him with a heavy tread and pushed her head over the stall to be petted. He obliged her, talking to her with that special crooning note in his voice that soothed even the most nervous of animals. When she had been younger Cathryn had tried to duplicate the tone and its effect, but without result.
“We’re one of the best horse-breeding farms in the state now,” Rule said without any evidence of pride, simply stating fact. “Buyers are coming from every state, even Hawaii.”
When they resumed their ride Rule didn’t say much, letting Cathryn see for herself the changes that had been made. She was also silent, but she knew that the operation she saw was well run. The fences and paddocks were in excellent shape; the animals were healthy and spirited with no signs of ill-use; the buildings were strong and clean and wore fresh coats of paint. The bunkhouse had been added to and modernized. To her surprise, she also noticed several small cottages to the rear of the ranch house, some distance away but within a comfortable range. She pointed to them. “Are those houses?”
He grunted an affirmative answer. “Several of the hands are married. I had to do something or have some good men a long way off if I needed them during the night.” He slanted a dark glance at her, but Cathryn had no objection to the houses; it seemed a logical move to her. Even if she had an objection she wouldn’t have voiced it, not wanting to start an argument with him. Not that Rule argued. He simply stated his position and backed it up. Without looking at him she was aware of the power of his body, his long, steely-muscled legs that controlled half-ton horses with ease, the dark-fire gaze that made people back away.
“Want to ride out and see the cattle?” he asked, and without waiting for her answer headed out, leaving Cathryn to follow or not. She followed, keeping the gray’s head just even with the chestnut’s shoulder. It was a brisk ride to the west pasture where the white-faced Herefords were grazing, and it made her predict ruefully that she would regret all of this in the morning. Her muscles weren’t used to so much activity.
The herd was small—astonishingly so. She said as much to Rule, and he drawled, “We’re not in the cattle business anymore. What we raise is for our own use mostly. We’re horse breeders now.”
Stunned, Cathryn stared at him for a moment, then shouted, “What do you mean? This is a cattle ranch! Who gave you the authority to get rid of the cattle?”
“I don’t need anyone to ‘give’ me any authority,” he replied sharply. “We were losing money on the cattle, so I changed operations. If you had been here, I’d have talked it over with you, but you didn’t care enough to visit.”
“That’s not true!” she yelled. “You know why I didn’t visit more often! You know it’s because of—” She cut herself off abruptly, sick with emotion but still stopping short of admitting her weakness to him.
He waited, but she said nothing else and he turned Redman’s head back to the east. The sun was dipping low, but they kept to a leisurely pace, not talking. What was there to say? Cathryn paid no attention to their exact location until Rule reined in his horse at the top of a gentle rise and she looked down to see the river and a clump of trees, the wide sheltered area where she had swum naked that hot July day, and the grassy bank where Rule had made love to her. Though aware that he was watching her with sharp intensity, she couldn’t prevent the healthy color from leaving her cheeks. “Damn you,” she said in a shaky voice, leaving it at that, but she knew that he would catch her meaning.
He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “What are you so upset about? I’m not going to attack you, for heaven’s sake. We’re going to walk the horses down there and let them have some water, that’s all. Come on.”
Now the color flamed into her cheeks and she seethed at how easily he had made her make a fool of herself. She took a tight hold on her self-control and followed him down the slope to the river with no hint of her agitation showing on her face, but every inch of her body remembered.
It was here that he had found her skinny-dipping and harshly ordered her out of the water, threatening to haul her out if she didn’t leave it willingly. She had stomped out of the river, outraged at his high-handed attitude, and waded right into battle without once considering the possible consequences of attacking a man while she was totally nude. What had happened had been more her fault than Rule’s, she admitted now with more maturity than she had been capable of eight years earlier. He had tried to hold her off and soothe her out of her temper, but his hands had slipped over her bare wet flesh, and he was all man, so blatantly virile that his masculinity was like a flashing neon sign to every woman who saw him. When he ground his mouth harshly against hers, stopping her screams of fury, she had changed in one heart-stopping instant from white-hot fury to the dark blaze of desire. She had no idea how to control her own responses or exactly what responses she was arousing in him, but he had demonstrated the last point in the most explicit way possible.
When he dismounted to let his horse drink, Cathryn followed suit. He noticed the slight stiffness of her movements and said, “You’re going to be sore if you don’t get a rubdown. I’ll take care of you when we get back.”
She stiffened at the thought of him massaging her legs and refused the offer more abruptly than she’d meant to. “Thanks, but I can manage it myself.”
He shrugged. “It’s your pain.”
Somehow his easy acceptance of her refusal irritated her even further, and she glared at him as they remounted and began the ride back to the house. Now that he had mentioned it, she was aware of her steadily increasing soreness with every yard they covered. Only pride kept her from requesting that they slow the pace, and her jaw was rigidly set when they finally reached the stables.
He swung out of the saddle and was beside her before she could kick her feet out of the stirrups. Without a word he reached up and clasped her waist, carefully lifting her down, and she knew that he realized just exactly how uncomfortable she was. She muttered her thanks and moved away from him.
“Go on up to the house and tell Lorna I’ll be ready to eat in about half an hour,” he ordered. “Hurry, or you won’t have time to get the horse smell off beforehand.”
That thought loosened her stiff muscles, and it wasn’t until she was going into the house that she thought to be irritated at the fact that mealtimes had to conform to his schedule. She hesitated, then remembered that, after all, he did the work around there, so it was only fair that he have hot meals. On the heels of that thought came the idea that he could always eat with the other hands; no one had invited him into the main house. He hadn’t waited for an invitation, she thought, then sighed, and dutifully passed along his message to Lorna, who smiled and nodded.
Neither Monica nor Ricky presented themselves, so she dashed up the stairs and took a fast shower. Meals on the ranch weren’t formal, but she changed into a sleeveless cotton dress rather than jeans, and carefully applied her makeup, driven by some deeply buried feminine instinct that she was hesitant to examine too closely. As she was brushing her dark mahogany-red hair into a smooth bell that curved against her shoulders, a brief knock sounded on the door, which promptly opened to admit her stepsister.
Her first thought was that Ricky’s last marriage must have been a rough one. The dark hair was lustrous, the dainty body slim and firm, but there was a febrile tenseness about her, and lines of discontent were fanning out from the corners of her eyes and lips. Ricky was a lovely, exotic woman, a younger version of Monica, with her ripe mouth and slanted hazel eyes, her golden-hued skin. The effect of that beauty, however, was ruined by the petulance of her expression.
“Welcome home,” she purred, lifting a graceful hand, which held a glass with two inches of amber liquid in the bottom. “Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, but I forgot that today was the big day. I’m sure Rule took good care of you.” She took a healthy swallow of her drink and gave Cathryn a twisted, malicious grin. “But then, Rule always takes good care of his women, doesn’t he? All of them.”