Against The Rules

She knew better than most just how dangerous Rule could be, but she wasn’t frightened now. An odd exhilaration made her blood tumble through her veins and she tilted her head back to look at him. “I’m not afraid of you, big man,” she said in both taunt and invitation—an invitation she hadn’t meant to issue, but one that came so naturally that she had voiced it almost before the thought was completed. A second too late, she tried to cover her mistake by throwing in hastily, “Tell me what Ricky meant—”

“Damn Ricky,” he growled as his fingers tightened on her neck a split second before his mouth closed on hers. Cathryn was surprised by the gentle quality of the kiss. Her lips softened and parted easily under the persuasive pressure and movements of his. He made a rough sound in his throat and turned her more fully into his arms, pressing her to him, his hand sliding down her back to her hips and arching her into the power of his loins and thighs. Her fingers clenched on his shirt sleeves in response to the heated pleasure that flared deeply within her. She was vividly aware of his male attraction, and everything that was female within her strained to answer the primitive call of his nature. It had never been like this with any other man; she had begun to realize that it never would be, that this was something unique for her. David hadn’t stood a chance against the dark magic that Rule practiced so effortlessly.

The thought of David was a lifeline to grasp, something to pull her mind away from the sensual whirlpool he was drawing her into. She tore her lips away from his with a gasp but was unable to move from his arms. It wasn’t that he held her captive, but that she lacked the strength to push him away. Instead she let her body lie against him while she rested her head on his shoulder, inhaling the aphrodisiac of his warm male scent.

“It’s good,” he muttered huskily, bending his head to bite at the delicate earlobe bared by the tilt of her head. “You’re not a kid now, Cat.”

What did that mean? she wondered with a flash of panic. That he no longer saw any need to keep away from her? Was he warning her that he wouldn’t try to keep their relationship platonic? And who was she trying to kid? Their relationship hadn’t been platonic in years, even though they had never made love since that day by the river.

From somewhere she dredged up enough strength to pull away from him and lift her head proudly. “No, I’m not a kid. I’ve learned how to say no to unwanted advances.”

“Then mine must be wanted, because you sure as hell didn’t say no,” he taunted softly, moving his body in such a way that she was eased to the head of the stairs. So that was how a cow felt when being gently but inexorably herded to wherever a cowboy wanted, she thought on a slightly hysterical note. She took a deep breath and briskly composed herself, which was just as well, because suddenly Monica appeared at the foot of the stairs.

“Cathryn, Rule, whatever is keeping you?”

That was Monica—not even a greeting, though it had been almost three years since she’d last seen her stepdaughter. Cathryn didn’t object to Monica’s remoteness. At least it was honest. She went down the stairs with Rule close behind her, his hand resting casually on the small of her back.

The table wasn’t formal. After a long, hot day on the ranch a man wanted a meal, not a social occasion. Cathryn’s decision to wear a dress had been an unusual one, but now she noticed that Ricky had also elected to leave off her jeans and instead wore a white gauze dress that wouldn’t have been out of place at a party. She knew instinctively that Ricky didn’t have a date that night, so she had to be dressing up for Rule’s benefit.

Cathryn’s eyes strayed to Rule as he sat in the chair where Ward Donahue had always sat. For the first time she noticed that he had changed into dark brown cords and a crisp white shirt, with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled back to reveal brawny tanned forearms. Her breath caught as she watched him, examined the features that had so often occupied her dreams. His hair was thick and as silky as a child’s, with only a hint of curl; both his hair and eyes were that precise, peculiar shade that was neither black nor brown, but a color that she could define only as dark. His forehead was broad, his brows straight and heavy over a thin, high-bridged nose that flared into spirited nostrils. His lips were chiseled, sensual, but capable of compressing into a grim line or twisting into an enraged snarl. His broad shoulders strained at the white cloth that covered them, while in the open neck of the shirt she could see the beginnings of the virile curls that decorated his chest and arrowed down his abdomen. She knew all of that about him, knew exactly the texture of that hair beneath her fingers....

Slowly she became aware of the amusement in his eyes and she realized that she had been staring openly, practically eating him with her eyes. She flushed and fidgeted nervously with her fork, not daring to look at either Monica or Ricky for fear they had also noticed.

“How was the flight?” Monica asked trivially, but Cathryn was grateful to her and latched onto the gambit eagerly.

“Crowded, but on time, for once. I didn’t ask if you had to wait,” she said to Rule, deliberately making the effort to converse with him and demonstrate that she wasn’t disturbed at having been caught staring at him.

He shrugged and started to say something, but Ricky broke in with a harsh, bitter laugh. “It didn’t bother him any,” she sniped. “He left yesterday afternoon and spent the night in Houston to make certain he didn’t miss you. Nothing’s too good for the little queen of the Bar D, is it, Rule?”

His dark face had that closed, stony look that Cathryn always associated with the painful days when he had first come to the ranch, and she had to clench her fists to quell the sudden, powerful urge to protect him. If any man was less in need of protection than Rule Jackson, he was one tough customer indeed. Rule proved that by giving Ricky a smile that was nothing more than a baring of his teeth as he agreed with seeming ease. “That’s right. I’m here to give her whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.”

Monica said coolly, “For God’s sake, can’t we have one meal without the two of you sniping at each other? Ricky, try acting your age, which is twenty-seven, instead of seven.”

In the small silence that followed, Monica continued with a statement that must have seemed completely innocent to her, but which hit Cathryn with all the power of a jackhammer. “Rule says that you’ve come home to stay, Cathryn.”

Cathryn shot a furious look at Rule, which he met blandly, but the denial that was on her lips was never voiced as Ricky dropped her fork with a clatter. All heads turned to her; she was white, shaking. “You bastard,” she said thinly, glaring at Rule with pure venom in her eyes. “All of these years, as long as Mother had control of the ranch, you’ve mooned around her and sweet-talked her into doing anything you wanted, but now that Cathryn’s twenty-five and has taken over legal control, you drop Mother as if she’s nothing more than yesterday’s laundry! You used her! You didn’t want her or me eith—”

Rule leaned back in his chair, his eyes flat and unreadable. He didn’t say anything, just watched and waited, and Cathryn had a sudden impression of a cougar flattening out on a limb, waiting for an unsuspecting lamb to walk beneath it. Ricky must have sensed danger too, because her voice halted in midword.

Monica glared at her daughter and said icily, “You don’t know what you’re talking about! With your track record in romance, how can you have the gall to either criticize or advise anyone else?”

Ricky turned wildly to her mother. “How can you keep on defending him?” she cried. “Can’t you see what he’s doing? He should’ve married you years ago, but he put you off and waited until she came of age! He knew she would be taking over the ranch! Didn’t you?” she spat, whirling to face Rule.

Cathryn had had enough. Trembling with temper, she discarded her hold on good manners and slammed her silverware down on the table while she struggled to organize the red-hot words in her mind into coherent sentences.

Rule had no such difficulty. He shoved his plate back and got to his feet. Ice dripped from his tone as he said, “There’s never been the slightest possibility that I’d marry Monica.” He left on that brutal note, his booted feet taking long strides that carried him out of the room before anyone else could add to the fire.

Cathryn glanced at Monica. Her stepmother was white except for the round spots of artificial color that dotted her cheekbones. Monica snapped harshly, “Congratulations, Ricky! You’ve managed to ruin another meal.”

Cathryn demanded in rising anger, “What was the meaning of that scene?”

Ricky propped her elbows gracefully on the table and folded her hands under her chin in an angelic posture, regaining her poise though, like Monica, she was pale. “Surely you’re not as dense as that,” she mocked. She looked definitely pleased with herself, her red lips curling up in a wicked little smile. “There’s no use in pretending that you don’t know how Rule has used Mother all these years. But lately...lately he’s realized that you’re of age, conveniently widowed, and can have full control over the ranch whenever you decide to take an interest. Mother’s of no use to him now; she no longer holds the purse strings. It’s a simple case of off with the old, on with the new.”

Cathryn gave her a withering look. “You’re twisted!”

“And you’re a fool!”

“I’d certainly be one if I took anything you said at face value!” Cathryn shot back. “I don’t know what you’ve got against Rule. Maybe you’re just soured on men—”

“That’s right!” Ricky shrilled. “Throw it up to me because I’m divorced!”

Cathryn wanted to pull her own hair in frustration. She knew Ricky well enough to recognize a play for sympathy, but she also knew that when the spirit moved her, Ricky didn’t adhere too closely to the truth. For some reason Ricky was trying to make Rule appear in the worst light imaginable, and the thought irritated her. Rule had enough black marks against him without someone manufacturing false ones. The area had never forgotten how he had acted when he returned from Vietnam, and as far as she knew he had never been reconciled with his father. Mr. Jackson had died a few years ago, but Rule had never mentioned that fact in her hearing, so she supposed that the strain between him and his father had still existed at the time of Mr. Jackson’s death.

Unwilling to examine her motives more closely, merely acknowledging the surface desire to set Ricky back on her heels, Cathryn said, “Rule did ask me to stay, but, after all, this is my home, isn’t it? There’s nothing to keep me in Chicago now that David is dead.” With that parting shot she got to her feet and left the room, though with considerably more grace than Rule had exhibited.

She started to go to her room, because she was feeling the effects of travel and her long ride. Her stiff muscles, forgotten during the heat of battle, renewed their appeal for her attention, and she winced slightly as she crossed to the stairs. Pausing with one foot on the first step, she decided to find Rule first, prompted by some vague urge to see him. She didn’t know why that should be when she had spent years avoiding him, but she didn’t stop to analyze her thoughts and emotions. It was one thing for her to rip up at him; it was something else entirely for anyone else to take that liberty! She let herself out by the front door and walked around the house, directing her steps to the foaling barn. Where else would Rule be but checking on one of his precious horses?

The familiar smells of hay and horses, liniment and leather greeted her as she entered the barn and walked the dark length of the aisle to the pool of light that revealed two men standing before the stall of the pregnant mare. Rule turned as she emerged into the light. “Cat, this is Floyd Stoddard, our foaling man. Floyd, meet Cathryn Ashe.”

Floyd was a compact, powerfully built man with leathery skin and thinning brown hair. He acknowledged the introduction by nodding his head and drawling, “Ma’am,” in a soft voice totally at odds with his appearance.

Cathryn made a more conventional greeting, but there was no chance for further conversation. Rule said briefly, “Tell me if anything happens,” and took her arm. She found herself being led away, out of the circle of light and into the darkness of the barn. She didn’t have good night vision, and she stumbled uncertainly, not trusting her footing.

A low chuckle sounded above her head and she felt herself pulled closely against a hard, warm body. “Still can’t see in the dark, can you? Don’t worry, I won’t let you run into anything. Just hold on to me.”

She didn’t have to hold on to him. He was doing enough holding for the both of them. To make conversation she said, “Will the mare foal soon?”

“Probably tonight, after everything quiets down. Mares are usually shy. They wait until they think no one’s around, so Travis will have to be really quiet and not let her hear him.” Amusement in his voice, he said, “Like all females, they’re contrary.”

Resentment on behalf of her sex flared briefly, but she controlled it. She realized that he was teasing her, hoping to make her react hotly, thereby giving him a perfect reason for kissing her again—if he even needed a reason. When had he ever let a little thing like having a reason stop him from doing anything he wanted? Instead she said mildly, “You’d probably be contrary, too, if you were faced with labor and birth.”

“Honey, I’d be more than contrary. I’d be downright surprised!”

They laughed together as they left the barn and began the walk back to the house. She could see now by the faint light of the rising moon, but he kept his arm around her waist and she didn’t protest. A silent moment went by before he murmured, “Are you very sore?”

“Sore enough. Got any liniment I can use?”

“I’ll bring a bottle to your room,” he promised. “How long did you tough it out with Monica and Ricky?”

“Not long,” she admitted. “I didn’t finish eating, either.”

Silence fell again and wasn’t broken until they had neared the house. His hold on her tightened until his fingers bit into the soft skin at her waist.

“Cat.”

She stopped and looked up at him. His face was completely shadowed by his hat, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze. “Monica isn’t my mistress,” he said on a softly exhaled breath. “She never has been, though not for lack of opportunity. Your father was too good a friend for me to jump into bed with his widow.”

Apparently the same restriction didn’t apply to Ward’s daughter, she thought, stunned into momentary speechlessness by his bold statement. For a moment she simply stared at him in the dim, silvery light as she stood there with her face tilted up to his. Finally she whispered, “Why bother to explain to me?”