Denim and Lace (6 page)

She opened the door and ran through it, her heart broken. He was horrible. Cruel and cold and she didn't want him anymore, she hated him...

She loved him! His mouth had been the end of the rainbow, the most exquisite promise of pleasure she'd ever known, and she'd wanted it with a pitifully evident desire. But he'd only been playing. And then he had to go and spoil everything with that cruel taunt...!

Cade meanwhile was glaring at the closed door with a jumble of emotions, foremost of which was anger at his own cruelty and Bess's helpless reaction to it. He'd never meant to humble her. He'd only wanted to protect her, even from himself. If he started kissing her, he wasn't sure he could stop. The last thing she needed now was the complication of a hopeless relationship. But he hadn't meant to hurt her.

He started after her, flaming with frustration and bad temper. “Damned circumstances,” he muttered to himself. He hated making apologies. Not that he intended to make one now. But maybe he could rub a healing balm on the wound he'd inflicted.

But when he stepped out into the long hall, he found Bess halfway down it, sobbing into his mother's shoulder.

Elise looked at her tall, angry son with knowing, soulful eyes. That look was as condemning as Bess's had been. Worse. He glared at her, then at Bess's rigid back, and went into his office again. But he didn't slam the door. Oddly enough, he felt as if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

“There, there,” Elise murmured softly, smoothing Bess's soft hair as it fell out of the bun down her back. “It's all right, darling.”

“I hate him,” Bess whimpered. She clung, even though she'd sworn on her arrival that she didn't need sympathy. Yes, she did, desperately. Gussie had none for anyone except herself, and Bess had nobody else.

“Yes, I know you hate him.” Elise hugged her close with a sigh. Poor little thing, with only Gussie for company at Spanish House. Elise and Gussie had been friends once, until Cade had made an accusation that had broken their friendship and made them enemies. Elise held no grudges even now, but Gussie hated Cade for the accusations he'd made and the way he'd embarrassed her in front of Elise. Bess didn't know about that scandal, and there was no reason to tell her. It was better left in the past, to her mind. It was only Cade and Gussie who kept it alive, and Elise had long since given up hope that the two of them would ever bury the hatchet.

All the same, she worried about Bess. At times like this she could have picked Gussie up and shaken her. Didn't she care enough about Bess to see that she was taking her father's death badly? The last thing she needed was to be here, letting Cade upset her. Elise, who'd wanted at least one daughter, had to content herself with the hope of daughters-in-law. Someday. Maybe.

Bess wept slowly, enjoying the luxury of tears. She was going to get over Cade Hollister if it killed her, now that she knew how he really felt about her. And she'd pay him back someday. It was going to be her goal in life. So it was a pity that no matter how hard she pictured her revenge, it always ended with his arms around her.

CHAPTER FIVE

B
ESS
HAD
HERSELF
under control by the time she went upstairs to say good-night to Gussie. She'd wiped the tears away and even forced herself to smile as she carried her mother a cup of herbal tea and some cheese for a bedtime snack.

“Feeling better?” she asked Gussie.

The older woman stretched lazily. “A little, I suppose. It's very lonely without your father, Bess.”

“Yes, I know,” Bess said gently.

“I thought I heard the car leave while I was napping,” Gussie said, eyeing her daughter. “Did you go out?”

“Just to the store for a minute, to get some more tea,” she prevaricated.

“Oh. Well, you really should tell me when you're going out. I might have needed something.”

Bess felt herself bristle. This was going to be unbearable. Now that her father was gone, she could already see Gussie's attention turning inward, to her own comfort. Bess was going to be trapped, just as Cade had said.

“Now listen, Mother—” Bess began.

“I'm so tired and sleepy, darling. I simply must rest,” Gussie said with a weary smile. “Sleep tight, baby.”

Bess almost stood her ground, but that smile cut the ground out from under her. She stood up. “You, too, Mama.”

“And don't forget to lock the doors.”

“No, Mama.”

“You're such a nice child, Bess.” She lay back, sipping her tea.

Nice
, Bess thought as she went to her own room.
Nice
,
but thick as a plank.
She was going to have to do something to shake Gussie out of her tearful, clinging mood. Perhaps that would work itself out in time. She had to hope it would.

Meanwhile she didn't dare tell her mother anything about going to see Cade with Great-aunt Dorie's pearls. It would be the final straw, to have to hear Gussie ranting about that.

That was unkind, Bess told herself as she put the pearls away in her drawer. Gussie did try, but she just didn't have many maternal instincts. Bess looked at the sheen of the pearls against their black velvet bed and touched them lightly. Save them for her eldest child, Cade had said. Her eyes softened as she thought about a child. Cade's child, dark-eyed and dark-haired, lying in her arms. It was the sweetest kind of daydream. Of course that's all it would ever be. Although his hunger for children was well-known, and he made no secret of the fact that one day he wanted an heir very much, Cade seemed in no rush to involve himself with a woman. And now there would be no money and no time for romance. He was going to spend the next few months trying to save his inheritance, and Bess felt terrible that she'd had even a small part in seeing him brought to his knees. She only wished there was something she could do.

The things he'd said to her still hurt. Even though she could understand that he was frustrated about the financial loss, and her defense of her mother, his bitter anger had wounded her. Especially that crack about not wanting her. What made it so much worse was that it was true. He knew how she felt about him now, and maybe it was just as well that she and Gussie were leaving town. It would be hell to live near Cade and have him know how she felt.

He'd seemed for just a few seconds to want her as badly as she'd wanted him. But that was probably just her imagination. He'd been angry. Of course he'd started to come after her. She spent most of the night trying to decide why.

That night was the longest she'd ever spent. She couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father's face. He'd been a wonderful father, a cheerful, smiling man who did anything Gussie wanted him to without protest. He had loved her mother so. But even that love hadn't been enough to make up for the disgrace of what he'd done. He'd betrayed his friends. He hadn't meant to. It had sounded like a perfectly respectable financial investment, but he'd been played for a fool, and that was what had driven him to suicide.

Bess cried for all of them. For the father she no longer had. For her mother, who was so weak and foolish and demanding. For Cade, who stood to lose everything on earth he loved. Even for herself, because Cade was forever beyond her reach.

She was up at the crack of dawn, worn and still half-asleep. She dressed in an old pair of designer jeans and a long-sleeved pink shirt with her boots to go riding. It was cold, so she threw on a jacket, as well. Gussie wouldn't awaken until at least eleven, so the morning was Bess's. She felt free suddenly, overwhelmed with relief because she could have a little time to herself after days of grief and mourning.

She went down to the stable for one last ride on her horse. Tina was a huge Belgian, a beautiful tan-and-white draft horse and dear to Bess's heart. She'd begged for the animal for her twentieth birthday, and her father had bought Tina for her. She remembered her father smiling as he commented that it would sure be hard to find a saddle that would go across the animal's broad back. But he'd produced one, and despite his faint apprehension about letting his only child have such an enormous horse, he'd learned, as Bess had, that Tina was a gentle giant. She was never mean or temperamental, and not once had she tried to throw Bess.

Giving her up would be almost as hard as giving up Spanish House. But there was no choice. There wouldn't be any place in San Antonio where she could afford to keep a horse. Tina had to go. There had already been two offers for her, but Bess had refused both. One was from a woman with a mean-looking husband, who'd said haughtily that he knew how to handle a horse—all it took was a good beating. The second offer had come from a teenage girl who wanted the horse desperately but wasn't sure she could come up with the money it would take to buy Tina and then to house and feed her. The girl's parents didn't even have a barn.

She sighed as she saddled Tina and rode her down to the creek. It was a beautiful day for winter, and even though her jacket felt good, it would probably be warm enough to go in her shirtsleeves later. Texas weather was unpredictable, she mused.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the other horse until it was almost upon her. She turned in the saddle to see Cade riding up beside her on his buckskin gelding.

Her heart ran away. Despite the way they'd parted company the night before, just the sight of him was heaven. But she kept her eyes averted so that he wouldn't see how hopeless she felt.

“I thought it was you,” Cade said, leaning over the saddle horn to study her. “You sit that oversize cayuse pretty good.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly. Any praise from Cade was rare. She shifted restlessly in the saddle and didn't look at him. She was still smarting from his hurtful remarks of the night before, and she wondered why he'd approached her.

“But you still haven't got those stirrups right.”

“No point now,” she sighed. “She's going to be sold at auction. This is my last ride.”

His dark eyes studied her in the silence of open country, flatland reaching to the horizon, vivid blue skies and not a sound except for an occasional barking dog. She was distant, and he had only himself to blame. He hadn't slept, remembering how he'd treated her the night before.

“If I could afford her, I'd buy her from you,” he said gently. “But I can't manage it now.”

She bit her lower lip. It was so kind...

“Don't, for God's sake, start crying,” he said. “I can't stand tears.”

She forced herself not to break down. She shook her head to clear her eyes as she stared at the range and not at him. “What are you doing out here so early?”

“Looking for you,” he said heavily. “I said some harsh things to you last night.” He bent his head to light a cigarette, because he hated apologies. “I didn't mean half of them.”

She turned in the saddle, liking the familiar creak of the leather, the way Tina's head came up and she tossed her mane. Familiar things, familiar sounds, that would soon be memories. “It's all right,” she said. The almost-apology brought the light back into her life. She felt so vulnerable with him. “I guess you felt like saying worse, because of all the trouble we've caused you and your family.”

“I told you before that it wasn't completely your father's fault.”

“Yes, but—”

“What will you do?”

Her eyes glanced off his and back to the saddle horn. “Go to San Antonio. Mama doesn't want to, but it's the only place I can find work.”

“
You
can find work?” he exploded.

She cringed at the white heat in his deep, slow voice. “Now, Cade...”

“Don't you ‘Now, Cade' me!” he said shortly. “There's nothing wrong with Gussie. Why can't she go to work and help out?”

“She's never had to work,” she said, wondering why she should defend her mother when she agreed wholeheartedly with Cade.

“I've never had to wash dishes, but I could if it came to it,” he returned. “People do what they have to do.”

“My mother doesn't,” she said simply. “Anyway,” she added to divert him, “I can get a job as a copywriter. Advertising work pays well.”

“I wouldn't know,” he muttered. “I don't have much contact with cities or city professions. All I know is cattle.”

“You know them pretty well,” she said with a faint smile. “You were making money when all the other cattlemen were losing theirs.”

“I'm a renegade,” he said simply. “I use the same methods my great-grandfather did. They worked for him.”

“They'll work for you, too, Cade,” she said gently. “I know you can pull the ranch out of the fire.”

He stared at her silently. She had such unshakable faith in what he could do. All that sweet hero worship was driving him to his knees, even though he knew it couldn't last. Once she got out from under Gussie's thumb and felt her wings, there'd be no stopping her. Then, maybe, when she could see him as a man and not a caricature of what he really was, there might be some hope for them. But that looked as if it was a long way off.

“Don't let your mother get her hands on those pearls,” he said unexpectedly. “They'll go the way of anything else she can liquidate.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, agreeing with him for once. “I told her they were costume jewelry,” she added with a faint smile.

“It won't work if she gets a close look at them,” he murmured.

She knew that, too. “Why do you feel so strongly about them, Cade?” she asked.

“Because they're a legacy. Something that's been in your family a long time, a piece of history for the children you'll have one day.”

She felt herself coloring. “I don't know that I'll ever have any.”

“You will,” he said. “So will I. I want half a dozen,” he mused, letting his eyes run over the land, the horizon. “Ranches are tailor-made for big families. This one is big enough for my kids, and for Gary's and Robert's, too. Gary's too city-minded to settle here, and I don't know about Robert. But it's in my blood. I'll never be able to leave it.”

She'd known that already, but it was new to have him talk to her without the usual cold hostility in his voice. Perhaps it was because she was leaving. And maybe there was a little guilt for the things he'd said the night before.

“Anyway,” he continued, “legacies shouldn't be used to get ready cash. Gussie isn't sentimental. You are.”

She smiled shyly. “I guess I am, at that.”

“Get down for a bit.” He swung gracefully out of the saddle and helped her down, while she tried to control an irrational urge to throw her arms around him and hang on. Her heart was beating wildly when he put her down and moved quickly away to tie the horses separately to small trees.

He stood on the banks of the creek, leaning back against a big oak, smoking his cigarette while he studied the small flow of water over the rocks. He was wearing denims and a blue-checked shirt with his shepherd's coat and a battered old tan Stetson, and to Bess's eyes he looked the very picture of a working cowboy. His boots, like his hat, were worn with use, and he was wearing working spurs—bronc spurs, in fact, small rowels with pincer edges around them that looked fierce but only pulled the hair of the animal they were used on. A horse's hide was tough and not easily damaged if the right kind of spurs were worn, and Cade knew the right kind to wear.

“You've been breaking horses,” she said, because she knew from experience that he only wore those particular spurs when he was riding new additions to the remuda.

“Helping Dally,” he corrected. Dally was the ranch's wrangler, and a good one. “We compromised. He wanted to take three years and I had three weeks, so he turns his back while I help him break them to the saddle. Besides, it's good practice for the rodeo.”

She knew that he competed at rodeos all around the Southwest and that he won a lot. He needed the money to help prop up Lariat.

“It's dangerous work.” She remembered so well the cowhand several years ago who'd had his back broken when a bronc slung him off against the barn wall. “You pulled that tendon...”

“I barely limp at all now,” he said. “And any ranch work is dangerous.” He turned his head and looked at her, and she could see the light of challenge in his dark eyes. “That's why I enjoy it.”

“Race-car drivers,” she murmured. “Mountain climbers. Skydivers. Ranchers—”

“Not to mention little girls who buy oversize horses,” he inserted, nodding toward Tina, who was towering over his own buckskin.

“She's terribly gentle.”

“I guess so. Your father and I had words over her, but he finally convinced me that you'd be safe.”

She went warm all over to think that he'd been concerned about her. He'd never said anything to her, and neither had her father.

“But Gussie never cared, did she?” he asked pointedly, his cold eyes holding hers. “Not about seeing you trampled by an oversize horse or anything else. Unless it interfered with her comfort.”