Rawhide and Lace

Her eyes opened a minute later. She blinked, and for an instant—for one staggering second—her eyes were unguarded and full of memories. And then it was like watching a curtain come down. The instant she recognized him, all the life went out of her face.

“You fainted,” he said gently.

She stared up at him dizzily, feeling his warmth and strength, catching the scent of leather that clung to him like the spicy after-shave he favored.

“Ty,” she whispered.

His heart stopped and then raced, and his body made a sudden and shocking statement about its immediate needs. He shifted her quickly, careful not to let her know how vulnerable he was.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “I feel a little shaky, that’s all.”

He touched her hair, on fire with the sweetness of her being near, loving the smell of roses that clung to her, the warmth of her soft body against his.

“Bruce didn’t say that to you—” she shook her head “—he couldn’t have!” There were tears in her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to. Here, are you all right now?”

She sighed heavily. It was a lie. A lie. She’d never said any such thing to Bruce. She looked up into watchful gray eyes and tried to speak, but she was lost in the sudden electricity that arced between them.

“Your eyes always reminded me of green velvet,” he said absently, searching them. “Soft and rippling in the light, full of hidden softness and warmth.”

Her breath was trapped somewhere, and she couldn’t seem to free it. Her eyes wandered over his homely face, seeing the new lines, the angles and craggy roughness, the strength.

“You won’t find beauty even if you look hard,” he said in a tone that was almost but not quite amused.

“You were so different from Bruce,” she whispered. “Always so different. Remote and alone and invulnerable.”

“Except for one long night,” he agreed, watching the color return to her cheeks. “Will you at least believe that I regret what I did to you? That if I could take it all back, I would?”

“Looking back won’t change anything,” she said wearily, and closed her eyes. “Oh, Ty, it won’t change anything at all.”

“I’m sorry…about the baby we made,” he said hesitantly, his voice husky with emotion.

She looked up at him, startled by his tone. She saw something there, something elusive. “You would have wanted it,” she said with sudden insight.

He nodded. “If I’d known, I’d never have let you go.”

It was the way he said it, with such aching feeling. She realized that he meant it. Perhaps he’d wanted a family of his own, perhaps there had been a woman he’d wanted and couldn’t have. Maybe he’d thought about having children of his own and taking care of them. He wasn’t anything to look at; that was a fact. But he might have been vulnerable once. He might have been capable of love and tenderness and warmth. A hundred years ago, judging by the walls he’d raised around himself.

She looked away and struggled to get up. He let her go instantly, helping her to her feet, steadying her with hands that were unexpectedly gentle. Guilt, she thought, glancing at him. He was capable of that, at least. But guilt was one thing she didn’t want from him. Or pity.

“I’m all right now,” she said, easing away from him. The closeness of his body had affected her in ways she didn’t want to remember. She’d given herself to him that night with such eager abandon. With joy. Because she’d loved him desperately, and she’d thought that he loved her. But it had only been a lie, a trick. Could she ever forget that?

“It’s all right,” he said gently, oblivious to the curious stares of passersby, who found it oddly evocative to see the thin, crippled young woman being comforted by the tall, strong man.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered wearily. “So tired.”

He could see that. Thinking about all she’d been through made him feel curiously protective. He touched her hair in a hesitant gesture. “You’ll be all right,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything now.” He straightened. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

It wasn’t home, but she was too exhausted to struggle with him. She only wanted a place to rest and a little peace. So much had happened to her that she felt like a victim of delayed shock. She couldn’t cope just yet with the memories or the future. She wanted to close her eyes and forget that either even existed.

Ty took her arm to lead her toward the tarmac, and she followed him without protest.

That simple action hit him so hard that his face would have shocked her, had she been able to see it. Erin had always been a fighter, a little firecracker. He’d admired her spirit even as he’d searched for ways to beat it out of her. And now, to see her this way, to know that she was defeated…was profoundly disturbing. She’d been crippled, had lost the baby he’d given her, and he knew that she could never forgive him. He wondered if he could forgive himself. He only knew that he was going to see to it that she left Staghorn whole again, no matter what it took. He was going to give her life back to her, regardless of the cost. He was going to make her well enough to walk away from him.

And he hadn’t realized until that moment that it was going to hurt like hell.

* * *

The plane was a big twin-engine Cessna, a pretty bird built for comfort and speed. There was more than enough room for Erin to sit or stretch out in the passenger space, but she wanted to see where she was going.

“Could I sit up front with you?” she asked.

It was the first bit of enthusiasm she’d shown since he’d found her at the apartment. “Of course,” he replied. He ushered her into the seat beside his and helped her with the seat belt and the earphones.

She watched, fascinated, as he readied the big plane for takeoff and called the tower for permission to taxi. She’d never flown in his private plane before, although Bruce had invited her once. Ty had objected at the time, finding some reason why she couldn’t go with them. He’d never wanted her along. He’d never wanted her near him at all.

He flew with a minimum of conversation, intent on the controls and instrument readings. He asked her once if she was comfortable enough, and that was the only thing he said all the way back to Staghorn.

The ranch was just as Erin remembered it—big and sprawling and like a small town unto itself. The house was a creamy yellow Spanish stucco with a red roof, graceful arches and cacti landscaping all around it. Nearby were the ultramodern stables and corrals and an embryo transplant center second to none in the area. Ty’s genius for keeping up with new techniques, his willingness to entertain new methods of production, were responsible for the ranch’s amazing climb from a small holding to an empire. It wasn’t really surprising that he was so good with figures, though. He was geared to business, to making money. He was good at it because it was his life. He enjoyed the challenge of business in ways he’d never been able to enjoy anything else. Especially personal relationships.

Erin was fascinated by how little the ranch had changed since she’d seen it last. In her world, people came and went. But in Ty’s there was consistency. Security. At Staghorn, very little changed. The household staff, of course, was the same. Conchita and her husband, José, were still looking after the señor, keeping everything in exquisite order both inside and out. They were middle-aged, and their parents had worked for el grande señor, Ty’s father, Norman.

Conchita was tall and elegant, very thin, with snapping dark eyes that held the most mischievous twinkle despite the gray that salted her thick black hair. José was just her height, with the same elegant darkness, but his hair had already gone silver. Rumor had it that Señor Norman himself had turned it silver with his temper. José was unfailingly good-natured, and such a good hand with horses that Ty frequently let him work with the horse wrangler.

The house had two stories, but it was on the ground floor that Erin’s room was located. Only two doors away from Ty’s. That was vaguely disquieting, but Erin was sure that he’d only put her on the ground floor because of her hip.

“If you need anything, there’s a pull rope by the bed.” Ty showed it to her. “Conchita will hear you, night or day. Or I will.”

She sat down gingerly in a wing chair by the lacy curtains of the window and closed her eyes with a sigh. “Thank you.”

He didn’t leave. He perched himself on the spotless white coverlet of the bed and stared at her for a long moment.

“You’re not well,” he said at last.

“You try going through two major surgeries in six months and see how well you are,” she returned without opening her eyes.

“I want you to see my family doctor. Let him prescribe some exercises for that hip.”

Her eyes opened, accusing. “Now look here. It’s my hip, and my life, and I’ll decide—”

“Not while you’re on Staghorn, you won’t.” He stood up. “Your color isn’t good. I want you seen to.”

“I’m not your responsibility….”

Arguing did no good. He simply ignored whatever she said. “I’ll make an appointment for you,” he said, studying her. “Maybe he can give you some vitamins, too. You’re awfully damned thin.”