Man Of Ice

Her eyes on the emerald she asked, “Could you, with her?”

There was a cold pause. “Yes. But she’s no longer part of my life, or ever likely to be again.”

She recognized the brief flare of anger in his deep voice. “Sorry,” she said lightly. “I won’t ask any more questions.”

He turned away, his hands back in his pockets again. “I thought I might fly you up to Wyoming today, if you don’t have anything pressing. A date, perhaps.”

She stared at his back. It was strangely straight, almost rigid. “I had the offer of a date,” she admitted, “but I refused it. That’s who I thought you were. He said he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer….”

Just as she said that, an insistent buzz came from the doorbell. It was repeated three times in quick succession.

Dawson went toward it.

“Dawson, don’t you dare!” she called after him.

It didn’t even slow him down. He jerked open the door, to reveal a fairly good-looking young blond man with blue eyes and a pert grin.

“Hi!” he said pleasantly. “Barrie home?”

“She’s on her way out of state.”

The young man, Phil by name, noticed the glare he was getting and the smile began to waver. “Uh, is she a relative of yours?”

“My fiancée,” Dawson said, and his lips curled up in a threatening way.

“Fi…what?” Phil’s breath exploded.

Barrie eased around Dawson. “Hi, Phil!” she said gaily. “Sorry, but it only just happened. See?” She held out her ring finger. Dawson hadn’t budged. He was still standing there, glaring at Phil.

Phil backed up a step. “Uh, well, congratulations, I’m sure. I’ll, uh, see you around, then?”

“No,” Dawson replied for her.

Barrie moved in front of him. “Sure, Phil. Have a nice weekend. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay. Congratulations again,” he added, trying to make the best of an embarrassing situation. He shot one last glance at Dawson and returned down the hall the way he’d come, very quickly.

Dawson muttered something under his breath.

Barrie turned and glowered up at him. “That was unkind,” she said irritably. “He was a nice man. You scared him half to death!”

“You belong to me for the duration of our ‘engagement,’” he said tautly, searching her eyes. “I won’t take kindly to other men hanging around until I settle something about that tract of land.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “I promised to pretend to be engaged to you, Dawson,” she said uneasily. “That’s all. I don’t belong to you.”

His eyes narrowed even more, and there was an expression in them that she remembered from years past.

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he hesitated. After a minute, he turned away.

“Are you coming with me now?” he asked shortly.

“I have to close up the apartment and pack…”

“Half an hour’s work. Well?”

She hesitated. It was like being snared in a net. She wasn’t sure that it was a good idea. If she’d had a day to think about it, she was certain that she wouldn’t do it.

“Maybe if we wait until Monday,” she ventured.

“No. If you have time to think, you won’t come. I’m not letting you off the hook. You promised,” he added.

She let out an angry breath. “I must be crazy.”

“Maybe I am, too,” he replied. His hands balled into fists in his pockets. “It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. I didn’t plan to invite her. She invited herself, bag and baggage, in front of half a dozen people and in such a way that I couldn’t extricate myself without creating a lot more gossip.”

“There must be other women who would agree to pose as your fiancée,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not a one. Or didn’t the gossip filter down this far south, Barrie?” he added with bitter sarcasm. “Haven’t you heard? It would take a blowtorch, isn’t that what they say? Only they don’t know the truth of it. They think I’m suffering from a broken heart, doomed to desire the one woman I can’t have.”

“Are they right?” she asked, glancing at the ring on her finger.

“Sure,” he drawled sarcastically. “I’m dying for love of a woman I lost and I can’t make it with any other woman. Doesn’t it show?”

If it did, it was invisible. She laughed self-consciously. She’d known there were women in Dawson’s life for years, but she and Dawson had been enemies for a long time. She was the last person who’d know about a woman he’d given his heart to. Probably it had happened in the years since they’d returned from that holiday in France. God knew, she’d stayed out of his life ever since.

“Did she die?” she asked gently.

His chin lifted. “Maybe she did,” he replied. “What difference does it make?”

“None, I guess.” She studied his lean face, seeing new lines in it. His blond hair had a trace of silver, just barely visible, at his ears. “Dawson, you’re going gray,” she said softly.

“I’m thirty-five,” he reminded her.

“Thirty-six in September,” she added without thinking.

His eyes flashed. He was remembering, as she was, the birthdays when he’d gone out on the town with a succession of beautiful women each year. Once Barrie had tried to give him a present. It was nothing much, just a small silver mouse that she’d saved to buy for him. He’d looked at the present with disdain, and then he’d tossed it to the woman he was taking out that night, to let her enthuse over it. Barrie had never seen it again. She thought he’d probably given it to his date, because it was obvious that it meant nothing to him. His reaction had hurt her more than anything in her life ever did.

“The little cruelties are the worst, aren’t they?” he asked, as if he could see the memory, and the pain, in her mind. “They add up over the years.”

She turned away. “Everyone goes through them,” she said indifferently.

“You had more than most,” he said bitterly. “I gave you hell every day of your young life.”

“How are we going to Sheridan?” she asked, trying to divert him.

He let out a long breath. “I brought the Learjet down with me.”

“It’s overcast.”