Ethan

Ethan came in with a cup of black coffee, looking out of sorts as if he’d never smiled in his life. He had a faint arrogance of carriage that had intrigued her from the first time she’d seen him. He was as individual as his name. She even knew how he’d come by the name. His mother Coreen, a John Wayne fan, had loved the movie The Searchers, which came out before Ethan was born. When Coreen became pregnant, she couldn’t think of a better name for her firstborn son than the first name John Wayne had been given in the movie. So he became Ethan Hardeman. His middle name was John, but few people outside the family knew it.

Arabella loved looking at him. He had a rodeo rider’s physique, powerful shoulders and chest that wedged down to narrow hips, a flat belly and long, muscular legs. His face wasn’t bad, either. He was tanned and his eyes were deep-set and very gray, although sometimes they looked silver and other times they had the faintest hint of blue. His hair was dark and conventionally cut. His nose was straight, his mouth sensuous, his cheekbones high and his chin faintly jutting with a slight cleft. He had lean hands with long fingers and neatly trimmed flat nails.

She was staring at him again, helplessly she supposed. From his blue-checked Western shirt to his gray denims and black boots, he was impeccably dressed, elegant for a cowboy, even if he was the boss.

“You look like hell,” he said, and all her romantic dreams were pushed aside at once.

“Thank you,” she replied with a little of her old spirit. “That kind of flattery is just what I needed.”

“You’ll mend.” He sounded unruffled; he always did. He sat down in the armchair next to the bed and leaned back with one long leg crossed over the other, sipping his coffee. “Mother and Mary will be in to see you later. How’s the hand?”

“It hurts,” she said simply. She used the good one to brush back her hair. She could hear Bach preludes and Clementi sonatinas in the back of her mind. Always the music. It gave her life, made her breathe. She couldn’t bear to think that she might lose it.

“Have they given you anything?”

“Yes, just a few minutes ago. I’m a little groggy, but I don’t hurt as much as I did,” she assured him. She’d already seen one orderly run for cover when he walked in. All she needed was to have Ethan bulldoze any more of the staff on her behalf.

He smiled faintly. “I won’t cause too much trouble,” he assured her. “I just want to make sure you’re being treated properly.”

“So does the staff,” she murmured dryly, “and I hear at least two doctors are thinking of resigning if I’m not released soon.”

He looked the least bit uncomfortable. “I wanted to make sure you got the best care possible.”

“I did, never fear.” She averted her eyes. “From one enemy to another, thanks for the T.L.C.”

He stiffened. “I’m not your enemy.”

“No? We didn’t part as friends all those years ago.” She leaned back, sighing. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you and Miriam, Ethan,” she said quietly. “I hope it wasn’t because of anything I said…”

“It’s past history,” he said curtly. “Let it drop.”

“Okay.” He intimidated her with those black stares.

He sipped his coffee, allowing his eyes to wander down the length of her slender body. “You’ve lost weight. You need a rest.”

“I haven’t been able to afford that luxury,” she told him. “We’ve only begun to break even this year.”

“Your father could get a job and help out,” he said coldly.

“You don’t have the right to interfere in my life, Ethan,” she said, staring back at him. “You gave that up years ago.”

The muscles in his face contracted, although his gaze didn’t waver. “I know better than you do what I gave up.” He stared her down and drank some more coffee. “Mother and Mary are fixing up the guest room for you,” he told her. “Matt’s off at a sale in Montana, so Mary will be glad of the company.”

“Doesn’t your mother mind having me landed on her?”

“My mother loves you,” he said. “She always has, and you’ve always known it, so there’s no need to pretend.”

“Your mother is a nice person.”

“And I’m not?” He studied her face. “I’ve never tried to win any popularity contests, if that’s what you mean.”

She shifted against the pillows. “You’re very touchy these days, Ethan. I wasn’t looking for ways to insult you. I’m very grateful for what you’ve done.”

He finished his coffee. His gray eyes met hers and for an instant, they were held against their will. He averted his gaze instantly. “I don’t want gratitude from you.”

That was the truth; not gratitude or anything else—least of all love.

She let her eyes fall to her hand in its cast. “Did you call the hospital at Dallas to ask about my father?”

“I phoned your uncle early this morning. The eye specialist is supposed to see your father today; they’re more optimistic than they were last night.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“Of course he asked about you,” Ethan replied. “He was told about your hand.”

She stiffened. “And?”

“He didn’t say another word, according to your uncle.” Ethan smiled without humor. “Well, what did you expect? Yours hands are his livelihood. He’s just seen a future that’s going to require him to work for a living again. I expect he’s drowning in self-pity.”

“Shame on you,” she snapped.

He stared at her, unblinking. “I know your father. You do, too, despite the fact that you’ve spent your life protecting him. You might try living your own way for a change.”

“I’m content with my life,” she muttered.

His pale eyes caught and held hers, and he was very still. The room was so quiet that they could hear the sound of cars outside the hospital, in the nearby streets of Jacobsville.

“Do you remember what you asked me when they brought you in?”

She shook her head. “No. I was hurting pretty badly just then,” she lied, averting her eyes.

“You asked if I remembered the swimming hole.”

Her cheeks went hot. She pleated the material of the hospital gown they’d put her in, grimacing. “I can’t imagine why I’d ask such a question. That’s ancient history.”

“Four years isn’t ancient history. And to answer the question belatedly, yes, I remember. I wish I could forget.”

Well, that was plain enough, wasn’t it, she thought, hurt. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She could imagine the mockery in his eyes. “Why can’t you?” she asked, trying to sound as unconcerned as he did. “After all, you told me yourself that I’d asked for it, that you’d been thinking about Miriam.”

“Damn Miriam!” He got up, upsetting the coffee cup in the process, splattering a few drops of scalding coffee onto his hand. He ignored the sting, turning away to stare out the window at Jacobsville, his body rigid. He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped the hot liquid again to steady himself. Even the mention of his ex-wife made him tense, wounded him. Arabella had no idea of the hell Miriam had made of his life, or why he’d let her trap him into marriage. It was four years too late for explanations or apologies. His memories of the day he’d made love to Arabella were permanent, unchanged, a part of him, but he couldn’t even tell her that. He was so locked up inside that he’d almost forgotten how to feel, until Arabella’s father had telephoned him to tell him that Arabella had been injured. Even now, he could taste the sick fear he’d felt, face all over again the possibility that she might have died. The world had gone black until he’d gotten to the hospital and found her relatively unhurt.

“Do you hear from Miriam anymore?” she asked.

He didn’t turn around. “I hadn’t since the divorce was final, until last week.” He finished the coffee and laughed coldly. “She wants to talk about a reconciliation.”

Arabella felt her heart sink. So much for faint hope, she thought. “Do you want her back?”

Ethan came back to the bedside, and his eyes were blazing with anger. “No, I don’t want her back,” he said. He stared down at her icily. “It took me years to talk her into a divorce. Do you really think I have any plans to put my neck in that noose again?” he asked.