Adam (5 page)

The cowboy's eyes were bleak in the light from the dash. “I think so.”

“But you're not sure?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “If I were, I'd have her back home and under me faster than chain lightning with a link snapped!”

Tate had thought they were driving without direction, yet she realized suddenly that they had arrived back at the front door of Adam's house. She saw Adam's truck parked there. So, he was home. And there was a light on in the living room.

She let herself out of the truck, but Buck met her on the front porch. He put an arm around her waist and walked her away from the light.

“May I kiss you good-night, Tate?”

Tate drew a breath and held it. This was so exactly like the scene she had played out the night she had left home that it was eerie. Only there were no brothers here to protect her from the big, bad wolf.

“Of course you can kiss me good-night,” she said at last.

Buck took his time, and Tate was aware of the sweetness of
his kiss. And the reluctance in it. When he lifted his head their eyes met, and they smiled at each other.

“No go, huh?” he said.

Tate shook her head. “I like you an awful lot, Buck. I hope we can be friends.”

“I'd like that,” the cowboy said.

He leaned down and kissed her again. Both of them knew how much—and how little—it meant.

However, it was not so clear to the man watching them through a slit in the living room curtains.

I
T HAD TAKEN EVERY OUNCE
of willpower Adam possessed to keep from stalking out onto the front porch and putting his fist in Buck Magnesson's nose. It wasn't just the thought of his sister Melanie that kept him from doing it. There were things he couldn't offer Tate that Buck could.

But he wasn't a saint or a eunuch. If Tate persisted in tempting him, he wasn't noble enough to refuse her. He was determined to keep his hunger leashed at least until he was certain Tate knew what she
wouldn't
be getting if she got involved with him. She was too young to give up her dreams. And there was no way he could fulfill them.

Before Adam had time to examine his feelings further, the front door opened. Tate stepped inside to find him sitting in one of the large Mediterranean chairs before the blackened fireplace, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey.

“Hello,” she said. “I didn't expect to see you again tonight.”

“I was waiting up for you.”

Tate immediately bristled. “Look, I don't need a caretaker.”
She wanted a lover. But not just that. A man who loved her, as she was beginning to fear she loved him.

“Old habits die hard.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I used to wait up for my sister Melanie.”

“You have a sister? Why haven't I met her?”

“She died ten years ago.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Adam had drunk just enough whiskey to want to tell her the rest of it. “Melanie ran away from home when she was seventeen. She was picked up by a stranger while hitchhiking. He raped her, and then he stabbed her to death.”

“That must have been awful for you!” Tate wanted to put her arms around Adam to comfort him, but his body language posted obvious No Trespassing signs.

She used sitting on the couch as an excuse to cross closer to him, slipped off her boots and pulled her feet up under her. She folded her arms under her breasts to give herself the comfort he wouldn't accept.

Then another, more troubling thought occurred to her. “Is that why you picked me up on the road? Because of your sister?”

Adam nodded.

Tate felt as though she'd been physically struck. She hesitated and asked, “Is that why you offered me a job?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Tate swallowed over the lump that had grown in her throat. “So I'm just a charity case to you?”

Adam heard the pain in Tate's voice and realized he had handled this all wrong. If he didn't do some fast talking, he knew she would be gone by morning. “You can hardly blame me for
offering help under the circumstances, can you? I couldn't take the chance that I might be responsible for another young woman's death!”

Tate wasn't so wrapped up in her own feelings that she failed to recognize the significance of what Adam had just said. “How can you blame yourself for your sister's death? What happened couldn't possibly be your fault!”

“Oh, no?” Adam's nostrils were pinched, his blue eyes like shards of ice. “Didn't you tell me that you left home because your brothers made your life miserable?”

“They only did what they did because they love me!” Tate protested.

“So that makes it all right for them to interfere in your life? To aggravate you enough to send you running in that old rattletrap truck?”

It was clear Adam was searching for answers that would release him from the guilt he suffered over what had happened to his sister. Tate found herself equally confounded by the issues he had raised. Was love a good enough excuse for the high-handed way Garth and Faron had acted? What if she had met the same fate as Adam's sister? Would they have blamed themselves for her death?

She knew they would have, just as Adam had blamed himself for Melanie's death all these years. She didn't know what to say to ease his pain. She only knew she had to do something.

Tate stood and crossed to Adam. She knelt on the cool tile floor at his feet and laid a hand on his thigh. She felt him tense beneath her touch. “Adam, I—”

He rose abruptly and stalked away from her. “I'm not in the mood for any teasing tonight.”

“I was trying to offer comfort!” Tate retorted.

“Just stay away from me!”

Tate struck back like the scorned woman she felt herself to be. “There are plenty of others who'll welcome my attentions!”

“Like Buck?”

“Like Buck!” That was a lie, but told in a good cause. Saving her pride seemed of utmost importance right now.

“He'll never marry you. He's still in love with Velma.”

Since Tate knew he was right, she retorted, “I don't have to marry a man to go to bed with him!”

“Is that so,
little girl?
”

Tate was gasping, she was so furious at the taunting words. But it was clear she could cut her own throat with a sharp tongue. She had certainly dug a hole for herself it was going to be hard to get out of. She took two deep breaths, trying to regain her temper.

Adam didn't give her a chance to speak before he said, “If you're smart, you'll go back home where you belong. Now, before you get hurt.”

“Are you firing me?”

Tate held her breath until he said, “No.”

“Then I'm staying. If you'll excuse me, I'm tired. I want to go to bed.”

Tate had started for the door when Adam quipped, “What, no invitation to join you?”

Tate slowly turned back to face him. She took her time getting from where she was to where he was. She hooked a finger into the opening at the neck of his shirt and looked up into eyes that were both wary and amused.

“I learned at my brothers' knees never to approach a bull
from the front, a horse from the rear…or a damn fool from any direction. Good night, Adam.”

“We'll talk about this again tomorrow,” he said to her retreating back.

“Like hell we will!” she replied.

Tate spent a restless night, tossing and turning as her mind grappled with all of Adam's revelations. What she found most disturbing was the possibility that Adam had merely been tolerating her because he felt responsible for her welfare.

Surely she couldn't have been mistaken about his physical reaction to her! More likely, he was attracted to her, but his feelings of responsibility toward her were keeping him from pursuing a relationship. If so, she would soon cure him of that!

Tate felt somewhat cheered by her decision, and she made up her mind to confront Adam at breakfast. Only, when she arrived in the kitchen the next morning, she discovered that he had already eaten and left the house.

“Did he say where he was going, Maria?”

“No,
señorita
.”

Tate worked hard all day in the office so she wouldn't have time to worry about where Adam had gone. He was bound to turn up sooner or later. He wasn't going anywhere. And neither was she.

However, by seven o'clock that evening there was still no sign of Adam. He hadn't even called Maria to say he wouldn't be home for dinner. Maria was washing up the dinner dishes, and to keep herself busy, Tate was drying them and putting them away. Maria had tried to start a conversation, but Tate was too distracted to keep track of what she was saying. Finally Maria gave up trying and left Tate to her thoughts.

Tate was worried. Where could Adam have gone? She had already checked once at the bunkhouse, but no one had seen him all day.

When she heard a knock at the kitchen door, Tate leaped to answer it. It wasn't until she opened the door that she realized Adam wouldn't have knocked.

“Buck! You look terrible. What's wrong?”

Buck pulled his hat off his head and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Um, I, um.”

She put a hand on his arm and urged him inside the room. “Come in. Sit down.”

He resisted her efforts to move him from his spot just inside the kitchen door. “No, I—”

“You what?” Tate asked in exasperation.

“I need your help.”

“Of course, anything.”

“Maybe you better not say yes until you hear what I have to say.” He eyed Maria, but was too polite to ask her to leave.

Aware of the tension in the cowboy, Maria said, “I give you some time alone, so you can talk,” and left the room. But she made up her mind she wouldn't be gone for long. The nice
señorita
, she was good for Señor Adam. It would not do to let cowboys like Buck Magnesson take what should not be theirs.

Tate turned a kitchen chair and sat in it like a saddle. “I'm all ears.”

Buck fidgeted with the brim of his hat another moment before he said, “I've thought a lot about our conversation last night. You know, about whether or not I could forgive and forget what Velma did? And, well…I believe I can.”

A smile spread on Tate's face. “I'm so glad, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, that's why I need your help. I've decided to go see Velma and tell her how I feel, and I thought maybe if you were along to sort of referee—”

Tate was up and across the room in an instant. She gave the startled cowboy a big hug. “It'll be my pleasure. When would you like to go see her?”

Buck grinned. “Is right now too soon?”

Tate thought about leaving a note for Adam, then rejected the idea. It would do him good to know how it felt to worry about someone who didn't leave a message where he was going!

Maria heard the kitchen door slam closed and came back in to see what Señor Buck had wanted. She frowned and clucked her tongue in dismay when she realized that Señorita Tate had left the house with the handsome cowboy. “Señor Adam will not like this. He will not like this at all.”

Maria made up her mind to stay until Señor Adam got back from wherever he had gone and tell him what had happened. Then he could go find the
señorita
and bring her home where she belonged.

Meanwhile, Buck drove Tate to a tiny house with gingerbread trim in a quiet neighborhood off Main Street in Uvalde. She waited anxiously with him to see if Velma was going to answer the doorbell.

Tate saw the light in Velma's green eyes when she saw Buck, and watched it die when she realized Tate was with him.

“I want to talk to you, Velma,” Buck said.

“I don't think we have anything to say to each other.” She nearly had the door closed when Buck stuck his boot in it.

“I'm not leaving until I say my piece,” Buck insisted in a harsh voice.

“I'll call the police if you don't go away,” Velma threatened.

“I just want to talk!”

When Velma let go of the door to run for the phone, Buck and Tate took advantage of the opportunity to come inside. Buck caught Velma in the kitchen and pried the phone receiver out of her hand.

“Please, baby, just listen to me,” he pleaded.

“Please give him a chance, Velma. I know you're going to want to hear what Buck has to say.”

Velma froze when she heard Tate's voice. “Why did you come here?” she demanded.

“Buck thought it might make it easier for the two of you to talk if there was someone else here to sort of mediate.”

Velma looked at Buck's somber face. She took a deep breath and said, “All right. I'll listen to what you have to say. For five minutes.”

Buck set her down, letting her body slide along his as he did. Tate could have lit a fire from the sparks that flew between them. They belonged together, all right. She only hoped Buck would find the right words to convince Velma he meant what he said.

Five minutes later, Velma was still listening, but Tate could see she was torn between the fervent wish to believe Buck, and the awful fear that he would soon regret what he was saying.

“I don't think I'll ever forget what happened, Velma,” Buck said. “But I think I can live with it.”

That wasn't exactly the same thing as
forgiving
it, Tate realized. Apparently Velma also noticed the distinction.

“That's not good enough, Buck,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I love you, Velma,” he said.

She choked on a sob. “I know, Buck. I love you, too.”

“Then why can't we get back together?”

“It just wouldn't work.”

By now Velma was crying in earnest, and Buck would have been heartless indeed if he could have resisted pulling her into his arms to comfort her. In fact, that was just what he did.

Tate suddenly realized another reason why she had been brought along. Her presence provided the only restraint on the sexual explosion that occurred whenever the two of them touched. Even that wasn't sufficient at first.