Susan Johnson (24 page)

Empress had seen the shock, the instant transformation a moment later, and gave him high marks. His poise was as impeccable as his charm, but their positions were reversed now that Trey was on her territory, the situation entirely different from the ranch where Trey had the advantage of family and servants who allowed him anything. With her four brothers and sisters and very cramped living quarters, ordering the world to his perfection may elude him this time. Not that she was disposed to harbor hatred for Trey, or for his inclination to authority rather than deference. She’d found it impossible even on her long, cold journey home to hate him, and now, in his presence, it was out of the question. In fact, she had an overwhelming impulse to throw herself into his arms, an impulse she ruthlessly suppressed. Enough inner monologues and agonized musing had ensued in the last few days for a very realistic perception to manifest itself apropos her place in Trey’s very full and busy life. Love or otherwise.

“Four, total. Brothers and sisters,” Empress clarified. “I’m afraid your trip might have been a waste of time.” Even as she uttered the words, her pulse rate spurted forcibly, for Trey was unbuttoning his buffalo coat. His dark lashes came up, and the glint that so often reminded her of moonlight flashed up at her.

“I damned near killed my horse to get here, so four brothers and sisters or forty …” He opened the Hudson Bay capote he wore under his coat and, with a lift of his heavy
brows, left the sentence deliberately unfinished. “It’s just a matter of”—he grinned with a quick boyish warmth—“arranging things.” Shrugging off his coat and capote, he handed it to her, only to immediately pluck her upright as the sudden weight of the coat buckled her knees.

“Good Lord, you wear that?” Empress exclaimed, a throaty gasp of surprise followed her startled cry. “You must be stronger than I thought.”

“And you weaker,” he replied softly, his strong hands under her arms. “A pleasant combination, if I remember …”

“Hush, Trey, the children might hear,” Empress warned, her gaze lifting toward the loft floor, her nerves tremblingly on edge. When he’d walked in from the winter darkness, inexplicably it seemed as if her life had begun again, and now, with his hands supporting her effortlessly, his physical presence engulfed her senses, like being wrapped in the eye of a hurricane.

“Give me a kiss, fierce kitten,” he whispered. “That’s quiet enough.” And lifting her off the floor, buffalo coat and all, he brought her face level and kissed her, his lips still slightly cool from the outdoors.

“No,” she protested as he put her down, “you mustn’t,” as if saying the words would still the familiar desire Trey’s kisses always provoked. As if simply saying no would deter the leaping need based on lush memories and his warm, demanding kiss. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said in answer to his kiss.

Taking his coat from her, he tossed it on a chair with one hand, as if she might discard a children’s blouse. “You shouldn’t have left me,” he replied, turning back to her, his voice soft and deep. The wool shirt he wore was a brilliant crimson and so smooth in texture that it must be cashmere and silk, the warmest combination against the cold. She felt shabby in comparison, the contrast in their lives, even with her new wealth, too disparate. Even with her father’s comfortable income as the Comte de Jordan, she had never envisioned resources and affluence on the scale Trey was used to. Maybe more than anything, it was his self-assurance based on that personal empire that was the obstacle to their relationship. The privilege and fortune made him what he was, and it clashed with her own wishes for the future.

“I had to,” she replied, knowing he could never be hers. “You shouldn’t have followed.” And she backed away.

“
I
had to,” he said so low, the words were a husky resonance, his moccasins silent on the wooden floor as he advanced the step she’d retreated. He was much too close, she thought with alarm, trapped between the sideboard and the bookshelf, her back against the wall.

The scent of him filled her nostrils as his hands came up and settled solidly, palms down, on either side of her shoulders. He never had understood no, she thought as his dark head bent down toward hers. She looked as opulent as he remembered, he thought, delicate, soft, her eyes wanting him even as she refused his advances. Thinking ahead, he wondered where they could find some privacy in this crowded cabin; there was hardly room to turn around. Their lips touched, Empress’s half open in the artless surrender he always found so tantalizing, and his arousal stretched the soft wool of his trousers. She felt it hard against her stomach and moaned unconsciously, her small tongue reaching for his when Guy’s tuneless whistle sounded clearly outside the door.

Empress broke away, sliding quickly under Trey’s arm, and was halfway into the kitchen area when her brother walked in the door.

“Trey, what’s your paint’s name?” Guy inquired, stamping snow off his boots. “He’s a real beauty!” He was the picture of youthful enthusiasm, standing just inside the door, his grin wide, Trey’s bedroll balanced on one shoulder.

Trey swallowed once to bring his voice back to normal and to still the raging desire so abruptly curtailed before he turned a half-step to face Guy. “His name’s Rally,” he answered. “He won the time trials at Helena as a one-year-old and has beaten every racer west of Sheridan in the last two years. You might like to try riding him tomorrow,” he graciously offered.

“Yippee, you’ve got a deal! Where do you want your bedroll? Can we shoot now?” Guy had a veritable Western hero here in his own home, and he wanted to get him settled in just as soon as possible, so he’d be sure to stay.

Trey knew exactly where he wanted his bedroll, but this boy was too young to understand, so he said instead, “We should help your sister with the food.” Empress had been
opening and shutting containers with a nervous agitation that looked potentially explosive. Knowing her temper, he was all for soothing concession. “Besides,” he quietly said to Guy, “we can shoot tomorrow. I’ll be staying a while, if you don’t mind.”

“If we
mind
?” Guy repeated in awe. “You hear that, Pressy? Trey’s staying! Isn’t that grand! He’s going to let me shoot his custom revolvers and ride his paint and—Pressy, isn’t it
wonderful
?” Guy was at the impressionable age where masculine accomplishments and feats of derring-do were significant and exciting.

It was heaven, Empress thought; it was everything she’d dared not dream. Paradise within her reach. Trey smiling at her and touching her, kissing her, weaving his seductive spell around her so there was bliss so profound, it obliterated her reluctance. The most beautiful man on six continents wanted her.

It was going to be a living hell. Because nothing had changed in the real world—the one outside the charmed circle that seemed to close around her when Trey held her. In that world—the real one—she was disposable. In that world Trey played at love. In that world a broken heart was all she’d ever get from loving Trey. Tempered by the baffling frustration that wouldn’t conveniently arrange for both loving and happiness, Empress’s voice was more sharp than she intended. “It’s wonderful. Now, you’d better help me with those potatoes.”

“Sure, Pressy, sure,” Guy quickly agreed, his voice happy enough for both of them. “You watch me peel. I’ve gotten real good while you’ve been gone.”

When Trey offered to help, Empress’s refusal was less strident than her answer to Guy as she guiltily regained her composure. Guy was so happy with a man’s company, surely she couldn’t deny him that pleasure. It hadn’t been any easier for him to leave their comfortable world and at the age of eleven take on duties and responsibilities beyond his capabilities. In some ways he and Empress had adapted better than their parents, more resilient in their youth to the unfamiliar tasks and manual labor.

Trey recognized the hard, clean line of her jaw when she’d said no to his offer, and he didn’t press her, wanting to avoid
any further disagreements. The sensation of her soft mouth under his and the richness of her small body pressed against his was vivid, and the last thing he wanted was discord. He waited for supper in the chair by the fire and in minutes had fallen asleep. Sheer willpower had sustained him on the trail, but he was exhausted, his partially healed body pushed to its limit. As though his indomitable will understood that he’d reached haven at last, that he was where he most wanted to be and could at last relax its vigilance, he slept.

“Hush,” Empress chided Guy once when he spoke too loudly. “Let Trey sleep.” And there was tenderness in her glance when she dwelled on the sight of him sleeping in front of her fireplace. She knew what an effort it must have been for him to follow her into the mountains, what stubborn courage it took to ride seventy miles in subzero cold with the fragile state of his health. Damn the unknown future, she thought spontaneously, and damn little bitches like Arabella McGinnis! She wanted him, and maybe the test of a seventy-mile ride through winter mountains meant he wanted her more than the Arabellas and Lucys of the world. In the tenderness of the moment, his tall, lean body sprawled on Mama’s sturdy chair, maybe nothing mattered but his being here. She let him sleep for almost an hour before waking him, and he smiled first when he saw her, as she’d remembered, then rubbed his eyes like a young child waking from a nap. “I’m glad I found you,” he murmured, and her heart swelled with happiness.

Supper was quietly cozy, the kerosene lamp casting its soft golden light across the table and over the faces of the three young people. It almost seemed as though they were entirely alone in the world, isolated high up-mountain in the blackness of the night. Relaxed in a lounging content, Empress watched Trey eat systematically like he always did, with relish, and beamed along with Guy when Trey complimented the chefs. He ate two servings of everything, said, “Yes, please.” with an intimate smile for her when she asked if he wanted more hot chocolate. Why can’t the world disappear, she thought briefly, returning his smile, and we could all stay here forever?

Guy had been warned by Empress, while Trey slept, not to be too inquisitive and demanding of their guest, so he stifled the impulse to talk Trey’s ear off and only asked a modest
number of questions about Indians and scalps and bloody revenge. All of which Trey courteously answered with a grave sincerity. It was agreed that they’d do some target shooting in the morning.

“If the blizzard hasn’t hit by then,” Trey said.

“Do you really think so?” Empress queried. “The sky’s so clear.”

“The wind was picking up and changing direction when I rode in. It smelled like snow to me.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky,” Guy declared with childish enthusiasm, “we’ll be snowed in!”

“Might,” Trey said, stirring cream into his applesauce.

“Oh,
no
,” Empress responded, her feelings an ambiguous confusion of wanting and not wanting, of reasoning and feeling at war. “We were snowed in the first winter we were here for over two months!” In the current state of her mind, how could she possibly deal with the thought of enforced detention with Trey?

“It doesn’t matter this time, Pressy,” Guy agreeably reminded her, “you brought home plenty of food.” Immune to the sexual undercurrents disturbing his sister’s peace of mind, the thought of a winter in Trey’s company was delightful.

“But snowed in … you can’t possibly stay that long,” she blurted out, then, realizing how rude she sounded, added, “I mean—your family will worry,” she said, stammering.

“I don’t mind being snowed in,” Trey said, his smile as warm as a summer day. “And my family knows where I am.” Now, that wasn’t exactly the truth, but they knew where he was going, if not the precise destination. And while his mother might worry, his father understood that he was capable of taking care of himself.

“Hear that, Pressy? Trey doesn’t mind!” Guy’s face was alive with joy. “Will you teach me to shoot a bow and arrow? Do you know how to shoot a bow and arrow? I’ll bet you know how to shoot a bow and arrow,” he said, answering his own question in breathless excitement.

“We’ll have time to do lots of things,” Trey replied calmly. “The first thing we should do if the storm hits is to make some snowshoes. Do you have snowshoes?” He’d seen the
panic in Empress’s eyes at the talk of being snowed in, and took pity on her anxiety.

“No, we don’t,” she answered. “Papa tried once, but—”

“Why don’t we make some, and then the snow won’t matter. You won’t have to worry about being snowed in. How does that sound?” he asked with kindness.

“I’d like that,” Empress said quietly, knowing in the short time Trey had been in her home that any lengthy stay would be disastrous to her emotions. He was vivid happiness and affection, with a natural warmth that lit her soul like a votive offering. He already meant far too much to her. They were going to have to seriously discuss his staying. Later, when Guy was sleeping.

But Trey fell asleep in the chair near the fire before Guy, the strenuous twelve-hour ride having depleted his reserves of strength. She covered him, and after Guy had gone to bed, she sat for a long time watching the lean, bronze-skinned man, the complex man who’d followed her home for what appeared to be utterly simplistic reasons. It would never pay, she reflected, staring at the perfect planes of his face in repose, to become too involved with the richest, most eligible confirmed bachelor in Montana; it would be the height of foolishness to become enamored of a man so handsome, if he wasn’t wealthy, he could make his way in the world on his looks alone; it was absurd to harbor the same simplistic attachment for him, as his was for her, an attachment based on purely sensual pleasure, which was incompatible with all her idealistic conceptions. Everything about their relationship, from their initial encounter as purchaser and purchased, was imprudent and absurd. Why was it, then, that she found her heart filled with limitless affection; why was it, then, that she softly whispered, “Don’t stay too long on Winter Mountain … or I might never let you go.”

A moment later she smiled at her own presumption. As if she could ever cage a man like Trey!