Dream's End (4 page)

With insolent slowness, he slid in beside her. She didn't dare look at Curry as they drove away.

Halfway down the long driveway she breathed a sigh of relief. “I didn't think I was going to get away with it for a minute there. I've never seen him like that!”

“Because he gets his own way most of the time,” he said tightly. “Not this time, though. Don't let him put the pressure on you, Norie. He's so damned underhanded, I wouldn't put anything past him.”

“Curry's not…”

“He's dangerous,” he repeated. “I don't think he'd ever hurt you physically, but we both know what his temper's already done to you. Just take it slow and easy, all right? Don't press your luck.”

Eleanor wasn't sure that she believed
him, but she nodded to be agreeable. She was too tired to argue.

“Norie,” he said gently, catching her eyes as she glanced toward him, “what did he say to you?”

She shifted uncomfortably and gazed out the window instead of looking at him. “Too much, and I'd rather not talk about it now, okay?”

“Sure, hon,” he agreed quietly. “If you'd rather not go back at all…”

“I would, but I gave my word, Jim.” She sighed. “I can't go back on it, no matter how much I might like to. It's not my way.”

“Stubborn little Texas mule,” he chuckled. “Tough as old boots, aren't you?”

On the outside, at least, she thought, but she laughed anyway and saw the light come back into his grim face.

 

They rode around looking at crops for a while—it was one of Jim's favorite pastimes, and Eleanor enjoyed the feel of the
big car as it took the bumps almost imperceptibly. She felt good as she looked out at the green young cotton and peanuts scattered over miles and miles of flat land spreading out into the horizon. She loved this land, from its cities to its bastions of history. It was in her blood like a silver thread.

 

It was almost dark when Jim took her back to his ranch, the Rolling B, and ushered her into the sprawling one story frame house. His thirteen-year-old son, Jeff, was sitting at the kitchen table with Jim's sister, Maude, who doubled as housekeeper and looked as if she could outdo any two men with her big frame and piercing dark eyes.

“About time you got back, we've been waiting supper,” Maude told Jim with a sly wink at Eleanor. “Sit down, both of you, and we'll dig in.”

Jim sat down grimly and picked up his napkin. He said grace with a strange curtness and started to fill his plate with
mashed potatoes, steak, green beans, tomato slices and fresh corn.

“Last time I saw him look like that,” Maude observed, “Ned King had outbid him for a black stallion he had his heart set on.”

“It's my fault,” Eleanor explained. “I had an awful fight with Curry and he rescued me.”

“About time.” Maude grinned. “I'm proud of you.”

Eleanor blinked at her. “Why?” she asked bluntly.

“You've been letting that man walk all over you ever since I first met you. It's time he found another carpet. That Amanda person ought to do nicely,” she added tartly.

“You had a fight with Curry?” Jeff asked excitedly, and Eleanor noted with a smile that he had his father's dark eyes and prominent nose.

“I did,” Eleanor admitted.

The boy's eyes widened. “Did you paste him one?”

“Jeff!” Maude scolded.

“Well, I just wanted to know, I never saw anybody hit Curry who didn't end up with his nose rearranged.” Jeff laughed.

“Boys!” Maude burst out. She paused, peered curiously at Eleanor, and leaned forward. “
Did
you hit him?”

“No, but I tried to,” Eleanor admitted with a tiny grin.

“I wanted to hang one on him, myself,” Jim broke in, as he swallowed down a gulp of his iced tea. “Damned, hard-headed bull! He ordered me off the place and threatened to shoot me if I ever set foot on it again.”

Maude's eyes popped. “Curry Matherson said that? The man's sick! I've never known him to threaten anyone!”

“Oh, we've had our rivalries,” Jim admitted, “but it was always friendly until now. You know, I think he's jealous of me taking Eleanor out. He acts like she's his personal property.”

Eleanor blushed furiously. “He just
hates not getting his own way,” she protested.

“You didn't see the way he was looking at you when you got into my car,” Jim countered. “I did. I know that look in a man's eyes, and I don't like it in Curry's. He's too damned underhanded when he wants something, and right now, he's got his mind set on keeping you. God only knows what he might do….”

“I can take care of myself,” Eleanor returned.

“Like Bambi,” Jim growled, and his big, dark eyes narrowed as they looked into hers. “Curry's dangerous.”

“I promise you he won't poison me,” she said with a half smile.

“Poison is the least of my worries. Norie, we're friends, aren't we? Then from one friend to another, get out while you can. Let me go get your bags….”

“Jim,” she said, stopping him midsentence. “You're my friend, and I appreciate your concern. But I promised to
work out a two week notice, and I'm going to do it if it kills me. I'm not afraid of Curry.”

“I'm afraid for you,” he persisted. “You're just a babe in the woods.”

Her pale green eyes fixed on him. “You're serious, aren't you? But, Jim, you can't possibly think…after all, he's engaged to Amanda.”

“Curry? Engaged?” Maude broke in. “He must want that redheaded scarecrow pretty bad to marry her.”

“Watch what you say in front of the boy,” Jim growled.

“Why? He's almost fourteen,” Maude replied, “and he probably already knows more than you want him to.”

“Curry's fond of Mandy,” Eleanor said, taking up for the girl.

“But he doesn't love her,” Maude came back hotly. “I've heard him say a hundred times that he'd never let any woman tangle up his heart the way his mother tangled his father's. The old man
killed himself when his wife divorced him, you know.”

Eleanor nodded, sipping at her tea. “It's something he's never talked about.”

“Probably because it hurt too bad. No, miss,” Maude said with set lips, “you'll never see Curry in love with a woman. But if he wanted one bad enough and couldn't get her any other way, he'd marry her. And don't you think that redheaded hussy doesn't know it! She's got about as much place on a ranch as I have in Saks Fifth Avenue!”

“Doing what, scrubbing floors?” Jim teased. “By the way, did Anderson call me back about that auction over in Alabama?”

And with the shifting of conversation, Eleanor was able to sit back and relax and stop thinking about her incorrigible boss. For the time being, anyway. And she dreaded going back to the ranch more with every second that passed.

S
he stayed at the ranch with Jim and his family until late, and when Jim suggested that they stop by the local disco for a drink, she was all eagerness.

The music was loud and throbbing and made her bones go weak. Around them people were laughing and enjoying themselves, and Eleanor felt some of their gaiety chasing her grimness away. She'd never had more than a sherry before, but
she persuaded Jim, against his better judgment, to buy her her first whiskey sour. The strong taste and smell of it was dampening at first but she found that the more she drank of it, the better she liked it. Her face began to brighten up. Her muscles began to feel loose. And all at once, all her cares and worries dissolved into music and laughter.

By the time they left the bar, Eleanor was singing the “Yellow Rose of Texas” at the top of her lungs.

She was still going strong when they reached the ranch house. Jim pulled up in front of the two-story white structure, with its lights blazing ominously.

“Eleanor, I can't let you go in there like this,” Jim said grimly.

“Sure you can!” she exclaimed with a hiccup and a smile. She struggled with the door handle and spilled out into the night with a little laugh. “Oh, I'm
soooo
relaxed!” she told him.

He got out, too, and, taking her arm,
escorted her up the steps onto the porch, just as Curry came out the door. His silver eyes were blazing, his hair was rumpled by his restless fingers, his tie was off, his shirt was unbuttoned—he was the picture of impatient waiting.

“It's about damned well time you got home,” he growled at Eleanor, who grinned at him.

“She wanted a whiskey sour,” Jim explained wearily. “I never should have…”

“Hell, no, you never should,” Curry cut at him. “Did you bring her straight here?”

Jim's lips compressed. “One more remark like that and I'll deck you!” he said flatly.

Curry reached out to take Eleanor by the arm. “I'll have Bessie look after her,” he said. “Don't let your engine get cold.”

Jim glared at him. “Lose your shotgun?” he challenged quietly.

Curry took a deep breath and his eyes narrowed. “We both know you got to her in a moment of weakness or she'd never have agreed to leave me. Don't expect any favors. And I wouldn't make any dates with her, she's going to be damned busy for the next two weeks,” he added meaningfully.

“All the same,” Jim replied with a cool smile, “If she calls me to come after her, I'll come, and you can damned well do your worst. Good night.”

Without a word, Curry pulled Eleanor into the house and slammed the door behind them.

Eleanor pulled weakly against the lean brown hand that was strangling her wrist as Curry dragged her up the stairs.

“Let me go!” she protested, coming out of the stupor the unfamiliar alcohol had caused.

“When I get you sober,” he agreed curtly. “You're going to get a bath, little girl.”

“I had a bath already,” she replied haughtily.

“Not the kind you're about to get. Bessie?” he called loudly. When there was no answer, he yelled louder, “Bessie!”

“I'm coming, I'm coming, I only have two legs and I'm using both of them as fast as I can!” Bessie grumbled as she ambled up the stairs behind them, finally catching up in Eleanor's blue and white bedroom.

“Lord, what's the matter with her?” she burst out, when she got the first look at the younger woman's tousled hair and glazed eyes. “She don't look like Eleanor. Where's her glasses? Her clothes look…Are you sure that's Eleanor?” she asked in a low, curious voice. “Where'd you find her?”

“Crawling out of Jim Black's car like a misbehaving pup,” Curry said gruffly. “Put her in a cold tub and get her sober,” he added with a malicious glance at
Eleanor, who was hanging onto a bedpost for dear life and glaring at him.

“But the poor child will freeze!” Bessie protested.

“If you don't do it,” he said with a flash of intent in his silvery eyes, “I will!”

“Of all the unconventional things!” Bessie caught Eleanor by the arms and shuffled her off toward the bathroom. “Come on, child, I'll save you.”

“Couldn't you save me,” Eleanor asked dizzily, “without the cold bath?”

Bessie only laughed. “You know Mr. Curry doesn't make threats. Besides, it'll all be over in just a few minutes and I'll tuck you in and bring you some aspirin and a cup of nice, hot chocolate.”

“What,” Eleanor mumbled, as Bessie started unzipping the terry top, “do I need aspirins for?”

By the time Bessie got her numb body into a gown and into bed, she knew with painful clarity what the aspirins were for.
Her head was throbbing and she felt vaguely nauseated just at the thought of the whiskey she'd put away. She knew without being told that she really was going to hate herself in the morning.

Curry came in just as Bessie went out, after leaving hot chocolate and aspirin by Eleanor's bedside. He leaned nonchalantly against a bedpost to stare at the white-faced little ghost in the big bed, her black hair swirling untidily around her shoulders.

“Feel bad?” he chided with a straight face, but his silver eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I feel terrible,” she said in a whisper, managing to take a sip or two of hot chocolate. She felt dizzy, and sick, and her head pounded.

“How about another whiskey sour?” he asked.

She glared at him with narrowed green eyes. “I hate you,” she said levelly.

“Why? I didn't get you drunk.”

“Neither did Jim, so don't you blame him,” she told him.

“Why, baby?” he asked quietly.

She glanced up at his dark, somber face, and let her eyes fall to the white coverlet. “Do I need a reason?”

“I think so. I've never seen you drink before.” He jammed both hands in his pockets. “Was it what I said to you, Eleanor?” he asked, his eyes darkening. “God knows, I've got a hair trigger temper, but I never meant to say those things to you. Damn it,” he growled, running a hand through his dark hair, “I don't want you to go! There's no reason in the world why you can't stay on, even after Mandy and I get married! The two of you like each other.”

Men, she thought, miserably, were the densest substance God ever created.

“I'd still rather go,” she said stubbornly. “Jim needs me more than you do, now.”

His eyes narrowed even more, danger
ously glittering. “What for? To do his typing, or to…”

“Don't you say it, Curry Matherson!” she dared, knowing what would have come if she hadn't interrupted him.

“You little prude,” he taunted, his eyes studying her slender body outlined under the bedclothes. “Hasn't the relationship progressed to that stage yet? My God, how has he been able to keep from dragging you off into the woods? The way you look with your hair down like that, and those ridiculous glasses off…” He frowned. “Or is all that sensuality just on the outside?”

She blushed at the look in his eyes. He made her feel threatened, uncomfortable.

“Why did you threaten to shoot him?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don't know,” he said honestly.

She dodged his piercing eyes and took her aspirins, swallowing them down with the sweet, rich hot chocolate.

“Stay, Eleanor,” he said quietly, his hands jammed into his pockets.

She looked up. “I can't,” she said simply. “Not after what I heard you say. I'd never be able to forget it. Not when I know what you really think of me,” she added in a pained, husky young voice.

“Do you know?” he asked, and there was something dark and quiet and unfamiliar in his eyes. “Do I?”

She felt a kind of electricity burn between them as she noticed for the first time that the coverlet had slipped down to reveal the wealth of bare, silky skin where the thin spaghetti straps of her pink nightgown clung to the soft curves of her breasts. His eyes had traced those straps down, and he was looking at her in a way he never had before—a look so adult and masculine that it made her fingers tremble as they jerked the coverlet back up.

He met her shocked eyes levelly. A slow, sensuous smile tugged at his mouth
and the glitter of his eyes made her feel vulnerable and weak. He laughed softly.

“You lovely little creature,” he mused.

She bristled. “I thought I was a chicken,” she said curtly, remembering.

He shouldered away from the bedpost nonchalantly and paused with his hand on the doorknob to look back at her. “Baby chicks are soft and downy and sweet to touch,” he observed, grinning at the quick, hot color that poured into her face as he went out and closed the door behind him.

She puzzled over the remark, over the look he'd given her for a long time before she finally slept. It was just as Jim had said, Curry wanted his own way and he wouldn't stop at anything to get what he wanted. He might try flirting, or even something more to keep Eleanor from leaving. She shuddered, remembering that dark, strange flame in the eyes that had traced her body, and wondered if she
could resist Curry, loving him as she did. If he ever touched her…She put the disturbing thought out of her mind and rolled over.

 

She overslept for the first time in three years, and ran downstairs to see if Bessie had kept anything out for her.

“Think I'd let you go hungry because you didn't wake up?” Bessie teased. She took a covered plate out of the oven and put it in front of Eleanor where she sat sipping her hot coffee at the kitchen table. “Here. Saved you some sausage and eggs and grits. Want a hot biscuit to go with it?”

“Yes, please.” She looked up at the older woman sheepishly. “My head hurts.”

“No doubt. Tied one on, did you?” Bessie teased.

“Not exactly. I just wanted to see what a whiskey sour tasted like.”

“Found out, didn't you?” she laughed.

“Boss gone out to the field?” she queried.

“No, he's waiting for you to get yourself together enough to take some dictation,” came a disapproving voice from behind her.

She flinched visibly as Curry came into the kitchen, wearing his jeans with a blue checkered work shirt half unbuttoned. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and sat down next to Eleanor at the table.

His eyes traced what he could see above the table of her trim figure in a white knit shirt and matching slacks. Her hair was left loose because she didn't have time to put it up, and her glasses were pushed casually on top of her head, giving her a sporty look.

“Looks young, doesn't she?” Bessie smiled, nodding toward Eleanor as she set a plate of hot biscuits and some jam on the table.

“Like springtime,” Curry agreed. His eyes were warm on Eleanor's slightly
flushed face. “Jim's influence, no doubt,” he added with a contempt he didn't try to disguise.

“No doubt,” Eleanor agreed sweetly, reaching for a biscuit.

His eyes flashed at her. He leaned back in the chair, sipping his coffee, and she braced herself for a storm, because it was building in his eyes.

Bessie must have felt it, too, because she dried her hands on a dishcloth, muttered something about dusting the flowers, and made a dive for the back porch.

“I meant what I said,” Curry told her quietly. “I don't want Black on this property again.”

“Or you're going to shoot him?” she asked carelessly, darting a nonchalant glance at him.

“I don't have to shoot him,” he said quietly. “If you're determined to walk out on me, there's a lot of work I need to get through before you pack, and that won't leave much time for socializing.”
His jaw set and locked. “You can save your plans for when you're on his time. I'm not paying you to play.”

Her own eyes narrowed. She glanced back at him. “Since when,” she demanded, “have I ever shirked my responsibilities?”

“Since you got yourself tangled up with Jim Black!” he returned.

“I'm not tangled up with him!”

His eyes lanced over her contemptuously. “Aren't you?” he asked insinuatingly.

Her face went dark with anger. She wadded up her napkin and threw it down next to the plate with her half-eaten breakfast, and stood up. “If you'd like to get started, Mr. Matherson?”

“Sit down,” he said quietly, “and finish your breakfast. I won't have you passing out from hunger. You're too damned thin as it is.”

She tossed back her long, waving hair. “From all my socializing, you know,”
she shot back. “And I've lost my appetite, thanks to you.”

“Keep pushing,” he said softly, rising, “and you're going to find out just how far I'll let you go.”

“I'm not afraid of you,” she said defiantly, turning to leave the room.

“Yet,” he said as he followed her out, and the hard spoken word had an ominous sound.