Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth: Hawk's Way: Garth / Hawk's Way: Faron

“Now who’s thinking about money?” Belinda goaded.

“It’s not the money,” Faron gritted out. He kept his hands on the wheel and forced himself not to put his foot down on the accelerator. “Oh, hell. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Just get the idea of giving this place away out of your head. I’m here and I’m staying until King’s Castle is sold. Now, if you’re through pouting, maybe you’d like to tell me what else I ought to take a look at.”

That was just the beginning of a very long day.

Belinda had put in a lot of hours over the past few years holding King’s Castle together, but she had never worked so long or so hard without a rest. She marveled at Faron’s energy, at his strength, at his tirelessness. But no matter how many jobs he threw at her, she was determined not to be the one who cried mercy first.

It was nearly dusk when he decided they should clean out the tack room in the barn. The small, windowless room that held saddles, bridles and other leather tack was dark and cool. Belinda pulled a string that lit a single bare bulb hanging overhead. She was assaulted by the pungent smells of leather and horses and, once Faron stepped into the room behind her, hardworking man.

“Some of this leather could use a soaping,” Faron said as he walked around the room checking stirrups and reins.

“There hasn’t been much time—”

“We’ll start now.”

“No.”

It was the first time since the incident at the windmill that Belinda had objected to anything Faron had suggested. He had been expecting her to quit long before now and head back to the house. She had amazed him with her fortitude. And slowly but surely driven him crazy with her presence.

His body had tightened as he watched her lick off a fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip that he knew would be salty to the taste. As he watched her stoop and bend and lean in jeans that hugged her rear end like a man’s hand. As he watched her cant her head and lift that golden hair up off her neck so the ever-present breeze could cool her, whipping tiny curls across petal-soft skin.

He should be glad she had finally given up, glad she would be out of his hair at long last. Perversely, he said the one thing he believed would provoke her into staying.

“Conceding the battle, Princess?”

Her violet eyes flashed with anger. “I won’t dignify that comment with an argument. I’m going to get cleaned up for supper. We can start here tomorrow morning.”

When Belinda tried to leave the room, Faron spread his arms and rested his palms on either side of the doorway, blocking the way out.

“Please get out of the way,” she said in a controlled voice. “I want to leave.”

“You surprised me today.”

She arched a brow but said nothing.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to keep up all day.”

She still said nothing.

“I was wrong.”

As an apology it lacked a lot. But it was as much of a concession as Faron was willing to make. “There’s something I don’t understand,” he said.

“What?”

“Why would someone who’s willing to work as hard as you have today marry a man twice her age for his money? It doesn’t fit.”

Belinda’s face paled. “It doesn’t have to. I don’t owe you any explanation. Now let me pass.” She wouldn’t discuss her marriage to Wayne with Wayne’s son. She wouldn’t.

When Faron saw she had no intention of answering, he took his weight off his palms and leaned back against the door frame, his legs widespread. She could get out, but not without touching him.

Belinda kept her eyes lowered as she tried to skim past him. She had to turn sideways, and the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. She gasped at her body’s reaction to even that brief contact.

Faron’s response was powerful and instantaneous. Before Belinda could get past him, he clamped his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. His arms folded around her, and he drew her close.

“Faron, don’t!”

“Do you think I want to feel like this?” he rasped in her ear. “It’s driving me crazy, knowing how your skin tastes, knowing what it feels like to be inside you—and knowing that you were my father’s wife!”

Belinda pushed at his chest with the heels of her hands. “Let me go, Faron! This is wrong!”

“You didn’t think so yesterday.”

“I told you, I didn’t know who you were yesterday! This situation is awkward enough. Let’s not make it worse.”

He nuzzled her temple, let his lips trail down to her ear and felt her shiver in his arms. “And this will make it worse?”

Belinda exhaled a shuddery sigh. “What happened between us was—”

“A miracle.”

“A mistake. Faron, we can’t let this happen again.”

Faron heard the desperation in her voice. He felt the same desperation himself. However, he could afford to be patient. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Neither was she.

He dropped his hands to his sides and stood up straight so there was more space between them. “Call me when supper’s ready.”

She didn’t answer him, just made her escape as quickly as she could. Belinda didn’t run back to the house, although it took all her willpower to keep her pace to a walk.

How had things gotten out of hand so quickly? She should have known better than to let herself get cornered like that. But she hadn’t been expecting Faron to confront her. She hadn’t been expecting him to admit that he still desired her.

But she had been right to push him away. There could be no repetition of what had happened yesterday. Under the circumstances it was unthinkable.

Belinda stepped up on the back porch and shoved her way through the screen door that led to the kitchen. In some ways, The Castle was like any other ranch house. Friends and neighbors always entered through the back door which was usually left open, rather than the front. She stopped dead when she saw Madelyn standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of chili.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked.

Madelyn lifted a spoonful of chili and sipped a taste of it. “Making supper.”

“Where’s Rue?”

“She’s having one of her spells.”

That was Madelyn’s way of saying Rue was drunk. Once a year, on the anniversary of her son’s death in Vietnam, Rue got drunk. How long the “episode” lasted depended on how good a job Belinda did of finding Rue’s stash of bottles and disposing of it. “I thought we’d gotten rid of all the bottles.”

“She must have had another tucked away somewhere.”

Belinda came up behind Madelyn and put a hand around her shoulder. “You should be resting.”