Книга - Heather’s Song

Heather's Song
Diana Palmer


ALL SHE EVER WANTED Cole Everett watched Heather Shaw grow from a child into a girl hovering on the edge of womanhood…and then watched her walk away from him to make it as a singer. Just as her career is taking off, an accident brings Heather back to the ranch and back to Cole.But it is far from a happy homecoming. Heather is confused by her growing awareness of Cole as a man, and hurt by how much he hates her for leaving. Yet he refuses to ask her to stay. What will it take to convince him that the song in her heart is only for him?







ALL SHE EVER WANTED

Cole Everett watched Heather Shaw grow from a child into a girl hovering on the edge of womanhood…and then watched her walk away from him to make it as a singer. Just as her career is taking off, an accident brings Heather back to the ranch and back to Cole.

But it is far from a happy homecoming. Heather is confused by her growing awareness of Cole as a man, and hurt by how much he hates her for leaving. Yet he refuses to ask her to stay. What will it take to convince him that the song in her heart is only for him?


Heather’s Song

THEESSENTIALCOLLECTION

New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Diana Palmer






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To the gang at Hawkins—and to Vicky


Dear Reader,

I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.

But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years, I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.

I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.

Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.

Diana Palmer


New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Diana Palmer

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Table of Contents

Chapter One (#u3aa11327-9e2f-501d-8092-14daf3267e97)

Chapter Two (#u8f64cbda-7958-5560-be00-d87fe7cd079b)

Chapter Three (#u7098699b-2e88-5ac1-9748-ce527460730d)

Chapter Four (#u413749cd-a575-52a0-aa18-82cc5c902217)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

The willowy blond was spotlighted in the center of the stage, her long platinum hair gleaming, her soft blue eyes half-closed and faintly sultry as she sang. Her voice, as clear and soulful as a bell in late evening, held the audience spellbound.

Heather Shaw was only twenty, but she had the stage presence of a much older performer. This was her first big break, though by no means her first performance. Tonight was the culmination of two years’ work, the moment she had looked forward to ever since she’d set out to win her independence from Cole.

As the last notes of her finale were followed by loud, enthusiastic applause, she felt strangely empty. She stood there, a vision in black lace and silver, and wondered if this was all there was to success.

When she’d left the ranch, Cole had warned her that success wasn’t the gleaming treasure she imagined. “It won’t be enough,” he’d said in that cool, controlled voice of his. “You’ll miss Big Spur.”

Heather sighed as she took off her stage makeup, changed into street clothes and got her jacket and purse. It was well past midnight, and she wanted nothing more than her bed. Cole was right—she did miss Big Spur.

She climbed into her little sports car with a wry smile. Maybe it would be best if she gave up her ambition and went home to the ranch. The rain was misting all around her, and she shivered, uncertain whether it was the cold or a sudden wave of homesickness that had caused her to tremble.

She pulled out into the sparse traffic and sat impatiently at a red light. Staring through the rain-blurred windshield at the nearly empty road, she wondered what Cole would say if he could see the loneliness in her eyes now.

The light changed and she stepped on the accelerator, in a hurry to get home to her warm apartment. She sped down the narrow street, unable to see the car coming at her on the wrong side of the road until she rounded a curve. And then it was too late. She gasped, hit the wheel too hard, and heard with a sense of unreality the screeching of tires, the crushing of metal, the wild shattering of broken glass….

* * *

Heather woke to darkness. It lurked outside the drawn blinds on the window, and she felt alone and afraid. Her slender body moved anxiously between the crispness of clean cotton sheets in the narrow hospital bed. She wanted to scream, but that was impossible. Her long, pink-tipped fingers went to her throat in frustration, and tears washed her pale blue eyes. If only Cole would come!

Her eyes darted again to the blinds and she frowned, tossing her long platinum hair restlessly on the pillow, teasing it into curling wisps. Surely he would have come as soon as he heard about the accident! Despite their disagreements, the stepbrother she worshiped would never have deserted her at a time like this. Cole could be cruel, but he was never heartless.

She shivered under the thin sheet. The heat was on, of course, but the room was still chilly. She’d have given a lot for one of the quilts her stepmother Emma liked to make on cold winter nights.

The door opened, and a smiling young nurse came in with a tray. “Time for your dinner,” she said pleasantly. She put the tray down and paused to rearrange the bedclothes before moving the food within reach.

Heather tried to speak, but it wasn’t any different now than it had been last night when they’d extricated her from the wreckage of the sports car. No sound came from her throat except a hoarse croak. The fear showed in every line of her delicate face and in the pale blue Siamese cat eyes under the tousled platinum hair that fell in untidy wisps around her shoulders.

The nurse glanced down and read her expression. “It’s not permanent,” she assured her. “Just a result of shock from the accident. You’ll talk again, dear.”

But I’m a professional singer, she wanted to protest. I’m a singer, and I’ve just gotten my first big break! Why did this have to happen to me now? I’m committed to a two-week run at the Bon Soir, and now everything’s ruined!

Her eyes closed on a wave of nausea. If only it hadn’t been raining. If only she’d listened to Cole and bought a bigger car, one that wouldn’t have gone into a skid on the wet road…. Heather’s soft eyes filled with tears. She glanced around at the bedside table and mimed her frustration at having nothing to write with.

“I’ll get you something,” the nurse promised. “Back in a minute.”

Picking at the food in front of her, Heather watched the nurse’s retreating figure. She felt so lost and alone. Even Gil Austin hadn’t shown up yet. He was her best friend in Houston, a reporter who’d been doing a feature story on the band she was appearing with when she met him. Gil was a live wire, and he’d taken the shy young singer under his wing, watching over her almost as protectively as Cole. Gil and Cole were even about the same age, Gil thirty, Cole thirty-three. But the resemblance ended there. Gil had fair hair and green eyes, and was always smiling. Cole’s hair was dark, his eyes were gray, and his face resembled deeply tanned stone. His life was the enormous ranch he and Heather’s father had built up together. Big Spur was a showplace, and Cole never tired of it. No woman had ever been able to nudge it to one side long enough to get him to make a commitment. Cole didn’t like ties of any kind.

“There you are!” came a breathless, relieved voice from the doorway.

Gil Austin let the door slide shut again as he came forward, his eyes worried, his fair hair tousled, his habitual smile noticeably missing as he studied the slender young form under the sheets. “Johnson sent me to Miami on a story.” He grimaced, looking wounded. “If I hadn’t been out of town, I’d have known about the accident long before now. I’m sorry, little girl!”

She tried to speak, but the effort was futile. She nodded instead.

He caught her small hand and squeezed it. “Are you hurt bad?”

She shook her head, pointing at her throat, and smiled again.

The nurse came back in with a pad and pen and handed it to Heather, smiling pleasantly at Gil. “Are you her stepbrother?”

Gil shook his head, frowning. “Hasn’t he been notified?”

“Of course.” The nurse nodded. “His name and phone number were in her purse. The attending physician called him from the emergency room. That,” she added with a hasty glance at Heather, “was very early this morning.”

Gil, too, looked at Heather, who was busily scribbling a note on the pad. “Taking his time, isn’t he?” he asked quietly.

The nurse nodded with a sigh. “If you’re through with your dinner, I’ll take it away now. Ring if you need anything.” She smiled at Heather.

Heather smiled back and handed Gil a note explaining how the accident happened and asking if he’d make sure they had notified Cole. “He’d be here if he knew,” she’d written.

Gil frowned at the faith in her bright eyes. He knew how she worshiped Cole Everett. But he also knew how fiery their relationship was, and how much Cole disapproved of his stepsister’s singing career. He wasn’t convinced that Everett might not be teaching her a painful lesson by his absence. The Texas rancher had a reputation for being difficult and temperamental. Gil, who covered the entertainment beat for the paper, had never met him, but he’d heard the business reporters talk about him and shudder. Everett was a millionaire several times over, and something of a power in Texas politics. A man with that kind of wealth would naturally be arrogant, but they said Everett made an art of it.

“I’ll go and check now, okay?” he asked, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. She looked so helpless lying there, so vulnerable. He wanted to protect her, but despite the weeks they’d been dating, she wouldn’t let him get close to her. He wondered if anyone had ever been able to measure up to Everett in her eyes. Her awe of the man was almost unnatural.

He left her long enough to check with the head nurse, and was informed in no uncertain terms that Mr. Everett had indeed been advised of his stepsister’s condition. The woman didn’t know why he hadn’t come, but she promised to have someone call him a second time.

Gil stayed with Heather until visiting hours ended, when he told her he’d have to go. She clung to his hand, but only for an instant. He left with promises to return early in the morning, and she held back her tears until the door closed behind him.

Being alone was frightening. It was all too easy to lie there and brood about the loss of her voice. She’d talk again, they said. This was just a temporary condition, hysterical paralysis of the larynx, the doctor had told her. When she got over the shock of the accident her voice would return. But could she sing again? She bit her lower lip. Oh, Cole, if only Cole were here, she wouldn’t be afraid…!

The sound of a cold, angry voice penetrated her depression. She blinked her eyes, straightening in the bed. She half turned toward the door, where the voice was coming from.

“I don’t want excuses!” it growled. “I want to know why in hell I wasn’t notified!”

Cole! She sat erect, the sheet falling away from the shapeless green hospital gown they’d put her in, and stared at the door with her heart in her soft eyes. There was a placating murmur just before the door was thrown open and her stepbrother walked in.

His hard, dark face was like a thunderhead, his silvery eyes blazing under his jutting brow. Tall, dark, blatantly masculine, he towered over the small, nervous nurse behind him. Heather’s pale eyes brightened with tears at the sight of him, so arrogantly commanding. All the arguments between them were abruptly forgotten, and she held out her arms like a hurt child seeking comfort.

His silvery eyes flashed at the gesture, and for an instant he looked as if he wanted to throw something. He tossed his cream-colored Stetson into a chair and bent to lift her slender body into his hard arms, cradling her against his broad chest as he eased down beside her on the bed.

She wept brokenly, her tears staining the brown fabric of his vested suit, and he held her even closer.

“I didn’t know,” he ground out, his deep voice rough with emotion. “I’d have been here hours ago if anyone had bothered to notify me.”

“Mr. Everett, you were called,” the nurse protested gently. “Honestly, you were. The attending physician put the call through while I was in the emergency room. I heard him give the message.”

Cole glared at her, his eyes dangerous with anger. “No one spoke to me,” he said deliberately.

The nurse swallowed. “That’s possible, of course. We’re very sorry about the mix-up.” She slipped out quietly, closing the door gently behind her.

Cole drew back to look down at Heather’s wet face. His eyes narrowed when he studied her wan cheeks in their frame of curling platinum hair. She looked like a whipped child. “Was it bad?” he asked softly.

She shook her head and tried to smile. Her eyes openly worshiped him. Cole was the biggest thing in her young life. She might fight with him, rebel against his arrogance, his absolute domination, but she loved him obsessively and she made no secret of it. It had been that way from the very beginning, when she was thirteen and Emma and Cole came to live at Big Spur.

His eyes slid down over her body in the hospital gown, lingering on a bruise at her collarbone. He reached down and touched it, and she stiffened instinctively at the unfamiliar sensation. “You’re bruised,” he said harshly, tracing the purplish area angrily. “I warned you about that damned little car.”

Her lower lip pouted at him and her eyes flashed. She wanted so badly to speak, to argue, but all she could do was fume.

He looked down at her steadily. There was no expression on his impassive face, but for an instant something gleamed in his eyes.

“Have they sent anyone for your clothes?” he asked.

She shook her head, reaching for the pad and pen. “Hasn’t been time,” she wrote.

“I’ll bring your things,” he said. He stood up, flexing his shoulders as if he hadn’t had much rest. Probably he hadn’t had any, she thought, studying him. Cole went like a dynamo, all the time. Her gaze was caught by the attractive brown Western-cut suit he was wearing. She couldn’t help noticing the way it emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist and hips, the way it clung to his powerful thighs like a second skin. There was something so sensuous about Cole, about the way he moved….

She squashed the disquieting thought. “Home?” she mouthed.

One dark eyebrow went up. “Your apartment or the ranch?” he asked.

She stared down at her fingers and her mouth pouted. “The ranch,” she scribbled, hating her own weakness.

“It won’t be that bad,” he promised. “Emma could use the company. I’ve been away a lot.”

“Not with cattle,” she wrote on the pad, flashing him a knowing look. “Not in winter.”

A rare smile touched his hard, chiseled mouth for a second, and she caught herself wondering if he ever used that smile on other women. It was devastating.

She shifted slightly in the bed, trying to ease the ache that seemed to affect her whole body. He leaned down and his long, brown fingers touched the white bandage that covered one of many abrasions on her arm. “Does it hurt, baby?” he asked.

He was the only man who’d ever called her that. It wasn’t an endearment she particularly liked, but Cole made it sound special.

She shook her head, reached her own fingers up to cover his, and caressed them lovingly.

The gesture seemed to bother him. He drew back as if she’d burned him and quickly moved away from the bed, ramming both hands into his pockets as he prowled around the small hospital room.

Heather felt rejected. Cole was acting so distant tonight. It was as if he didn’t want to be in the same room with her.

He drew a sharp, impatient breath, and when he turned back to her, his firm lips made a thin line. “How can I talk to you like this?” he growled.

She lifted her pad and wrote him a note. “I can write,” she scribbled, showing it to him with a smile.

“I know,” he said, “but it’s not the same. How long will it be before you can talk?”

She shrugged. “They aren’t sure,” she wrote.

“I’ll talk with the doctor,” he said, taking over, as usual. He looked so impossibly arrogant that she smiled at him, her whole heart in her adoring eyes.

His own silvery eyes snapped at her. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said abruptly.

She gaped at him, the confusion plain in her wounded eyes.

He turned away, grabbing up his Stetson. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he said without facing her. “I’ll bring you a gown when I come.”

She stared after him in bewilderment. Something must be very wrong for Cole to treat her so coolly. She only wondered what it was.

* * *

He was back the next morning, after she’d had her bath and her breakfast, with a small overnight bag that held a gown and some cosmetics.

“You can leave tomorrow,” he said curtly, dropping down into the armchair beside her bed. “I’ve told your doctor we’ll let our family physician take charge of your treatment.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. She could see Cole having it out with the wiry little doctor on her case.

“I’ve got to fly down to New Orleans for the day,” he continued. “But I’ll try to stop by before they put you to bed for the night.”

He made her sound like a toddler who needed a teddy bear and a bottle, and she glared at him.

One dark eyebrow went up. “Want to scratch me, kitten?” he asked.

“Yes,” she mouthed angrily.

His pale eyes slid down over the sheet that covered her thin young body. “You’re not up to my weight,” he remarked.

She hit the bed with a clenched fist and he threw back his head and chuckled softly, the sound oddly pleasant in the stillness of the room. As he stood up, she noticed how striking he looked in a gray suit that matched his silver eyes. He fumbled at his shirt pocket for a cigarette and then brought one to his beautifully chiseled mouth.

“Habit,” he growled, lighting the cigarette. “I don’t even like the taste of them anymore.” He leaned down and carelessly brushed her cheek with his firm lips. “Don’t give the doctor any trouble while I’m gone,” he warned.

“That’s your department, not mine,” she wrote saucily.

“You little brat,” he said, making an endearment of it. “See you tonight.”

She beamed at him, but she didn’t reach out to touch his hand, as she would have a day earlier. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he didn’t want to be touched.

Gil visited her later on, and leered at the picture she made in the pale blue chiffon gown Cole had brought.

“Talk about seductive,” he said in a theatrically husky voice. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Hospital food will give you indigestion,” she scribbled with a grin.

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose it will, but I’m not a patient. Where did you get that gown?”

“It’s hospital issue,” she lied on paper.

“Smart hospital. No patient, male patient, that is, would ever want to escape if all the female patients wore gowns like that.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Where’s your stepbrother? They told me he came last night. Excuse me, stormed in last night,” he added with a grin. “At least two of the nurses are being treated for shock, I hear.”

“He was mad,” she wrote on her pad.

“He should have jumped on whoever forgot to give him the message,” Gil pointed out, “not on the poor nurses. They couldn’t help it.”

She sighed. “The nurses were here,” she wrote.

“Oh.” He nodded. “And the poor soul who didn’t deliver the message wasn’t. I wish I knew the devil’s name, I’d send flowers in advance.”

Heather’s face lit up in a smile. Gil was such fun to be around. He made all the shadows go away, and while she was with him she forgot her fears and was able to relax.

He was telling her stories about his early days as a reporter when the door swung open and Cole walked in to find Gil Austin sitting comfortably on the side of Heather’s bed. Cole stood quietly in the doorway, and his very stance spelled trouble.

Heather could almost see his neck hair bristling. That silvery glitter in his eyes was dangerous, and she didn’t like the way he fixed his icy gaze on the man sitting beside her on the bed.

“The stepbrother, I presume,” Gil said with irrepressible good humor as he rose to face the newcomer.

Cole wasn’t amused. He glared at the younger man, his powerful body held in rigid control.

Gil cleared his throat, disconcerted by that level stare. “I’m Gil Austin,” he said, breaking the silence. “I cover the entertainment beat for the News Herald—and Heather’s my girl.” He glanced possessively at the slender young woman under the white sheets.

Cole’s eyes seemed to explode. His jaw went even tauter in his dark face. “A reporter,” he said, making an insult of the word. His eyes swept contemptuously over the shorter man before he turned back to Heather. “I’ll come by for you first thing in the morning,” he told her curtly. “Is there anything you want from your apartment? You’ll be at the ranch for a few weeks, at least.”

Heather scribbled “my coat.” She grimaced at the faint amusement in Cole’s eyes. She was superstitious about the ankle-length ermine coat Cole had given her for her eighteenth birthday. She never traveled without it.

“I’ll bring it,” he promised. “Anything else?”

“My purse,” she scribbled, “my old one—in the closet.”

He frowned.

“I keep my important papers in it,” she wrote, “and my money.”

His eyes narrowed. “You won’t need a bankroll to come home with.”

She sighed with irritation. If only she could talk. She wanted to tell him she didn’t need his handouts…but he read the emotion in her eyes and lifted his head in that arrogant way he had. She could have hit him.

“Can I do anything?” Gil asked, feeling left out.

“We can manage,” Cole said abruptly, sparing the man a glance.

“I’d like to visit Heather while she’s recuperating,” he persisted.

Cole turned around and stared right through him. “The last thing she’s going to need right now are visitors,” he said without even pretending courtesy.

Heather gaped at him. Cole had always been possessive, but now he was acting as though he owned her. Why couldn’t she have visitors?

“Heather needs peace and quiet to get over the trauma of the accident. She’ll heal quicker with family,” Cole added, “and I’m going to take them to Nassau for a week or so, anyway. She can call you when she’s back on her feet.”

Gil hesitated. It was the first time Heather had known him to be without a comeback.

“Get some rest, baby,” Cole told her, bending to brush his hard lips against her hair. “I’ll be here early, so don’t stay up too late with your boyfriend,” he added pointedly. “Good night, Austin,” he said, pinning the other man with his narrowed eyes.

Gil cleared his throat. “You’re right, she does look tired. Good night, little one,” he said, resisting the urge to kiss her before he left. Everett looked frankly dangerous. “Nice to have met you,” he added, pausing to smile at Heather. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Over my dead body,” Cole muttered when he’d gone, and Heather noticed that one lean hand had all but crushed the crown of his Stetson.

“Why don’t you like him?” she wrote on the pad, holding it up with a frown.

“He’s too old for you,” he shot right back.

“I like him,” she scribbled angrily.

But he didn’t even answer her. “Emma’s cooking your favorite dishes,” he said pleasantly enough. “She ran Mrs. Jones out of the kitchen to start getting everything ready. Mothers!”

She smiled involuntarily. Emma might only be her stepmother, but she was as dear to Heather as if there’d been a blood tie between them. She sighed and closed her eyes. Maybe she did need to be alone for a while. Maybe it would do her good to get away from everyone who might remind her of her career and the strangely unsatisfying life she’d made for herself in Houston.

She opened her eyes suddenly to find Cole watching her. She dropped her gaze quickly to the bedclothes, wondering at the way her pulse was misbehaving.

“Good night, baby,” he said curtly and was gone before she could get her pulse under control.


Chapter Two

The flight to Branntville took hardly any time at all, and Heather watched the flat barren landscape with eyes that remembered it in spring, when the bluebonnets were blooming along with the black-eyed Susans and the trees were a hundred different soft shades of green. She smiled at the memory, and Cole took his eyes away from the controls long enough to read the expression on her flushed face.

“And you were willing to give it all up to sing in a nightclub,” he scoffed. “Still think it was a good trade—clean air for smoky rooms?”

She tossed her hair impatiently and glared up at him.

A slow, lazy smile touched his chiseled mouth. “All right, Sunflower.” He chuckled, using his childhood nickname for her. “I get the message.”

She tore her gaze away from his. Cole had a dark charm that must be devastating when he wanted something from a woman, she mused, letting her eyes focus on the beautifully masculine hands at the controls of the twin-engine Cessna. They were long-fingered and dark, and they held the promise of great strength. His mouth, too, was strong, with a sensuality she was only now beginning to notice. The thought brought a slight frown to her face. Would he be a gentle lover? She flushed, vividly remembering the night last year when she saw him kiss Tessa at her birthday party, his mouth rough, not an inch of space between his hard-muscled body and Tessa’s…. The sight had been disturbing to Heather, although she didn’t know why. She carried the picture in her mind for days afterward: Tessa had been clinging to Cole like ivy, as if his kiss was everything she needed from life. No, she thought uneasily, Cole wouldn’t be gentle. He was a man of extremes, and she sensed that his passions were strong ones. He wouldn’t be satisfied with the brief, cool kisses she bestowed on Gil Austin.

She shook herself mentally. Her own thoughts were shocking her, so she turned her attention out the window and watched for the familiar white fences that marked the outlying boundaries of Big Spur.

Minutes later, the house came into view below, surrounded by tall pecan and oak trees. It was brick, its architecture reminiscent of an English manor house. A long driveway circled in front of the entrance, lined with dogwoods that bloomed in white profusion each spring and a myriad of flowering shrubs. In her mind’s eye, Heather could see the interior of the towering mansion, the main reception rooms all opening off the center hall with its delightful winding staircase and massive crystal chandelier. The interior rooms were spacious, and the den where Cole did his paperwork had a huge stone fireplace and a very striking Belgian area rug done in deep wine. There was a three-car garage, a tennis court, a swimming pool and a patio with masses of rose bushes. It was like something out of a storybook, or the Old South—which wasn’t at all surprising, since the Shaws had emigrated to East Texas from Georgia. Heather’s great-grandfather had built the house, back in the days of the great cattle drives, and it had had its share of famous and infamous guests. In fact, Branntville itself was located on the old Chisholm Trail, a fact that had always excited Heather as a child.

The house was technically Emma’s now, willed to her by Heather’s late father. Heather never begrudged her stepmother that bequeathal. Emma had loved her stepdaughter like her own child, and that love had been returned full measure. It hurt to remember that Heather’s own mother had been a rather cool person, all elegance and high fashion and very little emotion.

They were coming down now, Cole’s brown hands firm and confident on the controls as he eased the Cessna onto the family airstrip, nestled in the midst of thousands of acres of prime cattle land. Cole and her father had built the ranch up slowly over the years, investing their initially modest profits in new stock to improve their herd. Now, Cole had one of the finest ranches in Texas, a ranch that was famous for its blooded stock and champion bulls. Heather felt a sense of pride in her stepbrother. He had a keen business head, and he radiated power. He could make or break a politician in this part of the state, and he was an avid conservationist.

The plane touched down lightly on the runway and Cole taxied it to a stop near the silver side of the hangar and cut the engine. “Home,” he told her with a flash of pride in his silver eyes.

She smiled at him, the emotion she felt evident in her eyes, in the parting of her soft mouth. His gaze whipped down to her pink lips with a suddenness that was devastating in its effect on her pulse. She almost gasped at the newness of the look, and the surprise was in her eyes when his gaze shot back up to meet hers.

She turned quickly and tried to open the door, fumbling with it nervously.

“Something wrong, honey?” Cole asked in a strange tone. He leaned across her, his hard-muscled arm pressing against her breasts for an instant, his warm breath in her hair as he opened the door.

She scrambled out as if mad dogs were chasing her, and she thought she heard soft, amused laughter behind her as she reached the pavement.

One of the ranch hands had driven down to get them in the station wagon, and Heather was careful to get in the backseat before Cole could herd her into the front with him. Nothing showed on that impassive face, but she had the strangest feeling that he was amused by her. She could still see that unfamiliar look in his eyes, the darkness making them slate gray, the totally adult glitter something she’d never experienced. Cole had never treated her as anything except his younger sister. But there was nothing remotely filial about that look, and she remembered without wanting to that there was no blood relationship to protect her from Cole. Her innocence would be no match for his obvious experience, and if he could upset her like this just by looking at her, Heaven only knew what would happen if he touched her….

That thought sent a burst of wild excitement singing through her slender young body, and her face blushed as dusky as an autumn sunset. She kept her eyes down so that Cole wouldn’t notice—even though he was talking business with the ranch hand.

She’d never considered Cole in this light before. It was a little frightening. She’d watched him charm women with a sense of pride, feeling safe because she was his stepsister. She’d always been shielded from his devastating masculinity. But now she’d stepped out from behind that shield, and she was vulnerable for the first time. She felt like a fawn taking its first steps into a meadow, wondering what dangers lay beyond the quiet, dark glade.

She bit her lower lip hard. She wanted to crawl back into her cocoon and forget what she’d been thinking. Cole was far too dangerous for a novice.

They were driving near the river now, and Heather remembered almost drowning there the first summer Cole and Emma lived at Big Spur. Cole had plucked her out of the water, a shivering little thirteen-year-old with big blue eyes. She’d been his possession since that day, and he’d treated her like one. He’d always had a hand in the major decisions of her life. Her parties, her friends, her travels had all been dictated by Cole, even before her father’s death. Her education at an exclusive Swiss girls’ school—which she’d hated—had been his idea, too. But when it came to singing, she’d managed to get her own way. Emma had stood by her, especially after a well-known promoter named Pete Howell had raved about her talent. Her first appearance at a local nightclub had led to several other offers, and engagement after engagement followed until the big break finally came—the two-week engagement, that she’d just been starting the night of the accident.

“…otherwise, it’s been going smoothly,” the ranch hand was saying. “Bill said to tell you he sure was sorry he didn’t get word to you about Miss Shaw. He got busy….”

“Which is no damned excuse at all,” Cole shot back, his silver eyes blazing. “By God, I’ll tear a strip off him for that!”

His hard, chiseled mouth made a thin line, and Heather was glad she couldn’t see his eyes from the backseat. There was a white-hot anger in his otherwise controlled voice. But then, everything about Cole was controlled. Mr. Cool, she used to call him behind his back. No matter how she tried, she never could rattle him. Her worst tempers only amused him. She’d worn herself out against the rock of his will without accomplishing anything. Her young adulthood had been full of rages. And Cole took them in stride, either ignoring her antics or putting an end to them with a well-placed look and a firm command. She’d never stood up to him until she wanted a career enough to throw caution to the winds. But without Emma’s careful pleading, she’d never have won. She’d never seen anyone match Cole. And she never expected to. She felt sorry for Bill, whoever he was. Cole could be utterly cruel.

* * *

They wound up the long driveway with its rows of dogwoods, bare now in the winter chill. The house was austerely elegant amid the dark skeletons of the huge oak and pecan trees. No sooner had the station wagon pulled up at the front steps than Emma Everett Shaw came running down them like a silver-haired whirlwind, her deep brown eyes shimmering with excitement, her arms opened wide in welcome.

Heather ran into those slender, outstretched arms like a baby rabbit into its hutch, the pitiful croak of a sob tearing out of her throat.

“My baby,” Emma cooed, nestling the tumble of waving platinum hair against her shoulder. “My poor baby, you’re safe now, you’re home, Emma’s here.”

That made her cry even more. How many times in her tragedy-torn young life had those words been whispered at her ear? How many tears had poured onto Emma’s thin shoulders? The older woman smelled of spices and flour instead of the expensive perfume she connected with her late mother.

Emma was unpretentious, taking her wealth and position for granted. She could charm beggars and kings alike, and Heather had seen her hide a twenty-dollar bill in a farm woman’s pocket when there was a money problem in the family that Emma knew about. She delighted in being sneaky about her contributions. No one knew exactly how much money she donated to charity, or in what incredible ways she went about her good works. Heather had known her to anonymously pay a monstrous hospital bill that some down-on-his-luck new father couldn’t manage without insurance, and then pretend to be surprised when some member of her garden club told her about it.

Heather cried even harder. Disloyal though it seemed to admit it, her own mother had never cared so much. And Heather loved Emma in a way she could never have loved the fragile, cold piece of porcelain her mother had been.

“That’s enough,” Cole said suddenly. He separated the two women and, holding Heather roughly by the arm, herded her up the stairs. “I don’t mind a few tears, but you can’t have hysterics on the front steps.”

Her bright, flaming eyes glared up at him violently, and she wanted to hit him. Behind them, Emma was moving quickly up the steps, muttering under her breath. Heather almost smiled. All her life, Emma had muttered at men—first at her husband, then at Heather’s father, and now at Cole. It was her own form of passive rebellion, and Heather couldn’t help being amused by it. Emma muttered with style.

Once they were in the house, Emma smiled gently at the tear-stained face of her stepdaughter. “Go upstairs and rest, sweetheart,” she said softly, “and I’ll bring you some hot chocolate. Would you like that?”

Heather’s blue eyes lit up. Hot chocolate had always soothed her; it was Emma’s answer to chicken soup. She nodded enthusiastically, pausing to throw a hostile glance in Cole’s general direction before she held on to the curved, polished wood of the bannister and moved slowly up the beige carpeted staircase to her old room.

She threw open the door and let her tired eyes drink in the sight of the delightfully pink room. The wallpaper was pale pink and matched the thick quilted coverlet and pillow shams on the double bed. There was a full-length mirror on the closet door, and a crystal lamp on the antique washstand against the wall. The carpeting was the same soft beige as in the rest of the house, and there was a wing chair upholstered in fabric that matched the wallpaper.

Heather settled herself on the window seat and looked out over the white-fenced ranch, ignoring Cole as he entered the room to place her bags on the floor before coming to stand beside her.

He followed her gaze to the sweep of land in its winter desolation. The red-coated cattle were massed at feed troughs where silage was taking the place of lush green grass in their diets. Paddocks near the barn sported handsome Appaloosa stallions and two white-coated fillies in separate pastures. Heather sighed, remembering what it was like to ride a horse out through the fields, to hear the lazy creak of saddle leather and to feel the spring breeze wafting in her loosened hair.

“When you’re a little stronger, I’ll take you riding,” Cole said suddenly, as if he’d looked into her mind. It was an uncanny habit he’d always had, one that never failed to stun her. “That is, if you haven’t forgotten how to ride.”

She glared at him, meeting the challenge in his polished silver eyes as she jerked her head deliberately from side to side.

A mocking smile touched his chiseled mouth. “I can almost see the words in your mind,” he mused, making her feel more child than woman.

She hit out at him unexpectedly. It was the only alternative to the scalding tirade she couldn’t produce—but it proved equally ineffective. He caught her wrist with his lean, powerful fingers and jerked her against him. His other hand tangled in the long, silken ribbon of her hair, subduing her effortlessly as he pulled her head back until her stunned eyes met his.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said quietly, his darkening gaze sweeping across her flushed face, taking in the creamy skin, the fullness of her mouth. “You’re not too big to spank, Sunflower.”

She struggled, but he only held her closer, mocking her with his lean, surprising strength. He’d never held her like this before, and she’d never fought with him physically. It was new, heady, to tempt Cole into violence.

She pushed against him and he ended the unequal struggle all too easily, jerking her ruthlessly closer against his hard body. His face was so close that she could feel his warm, smoky breath on her forehead.

“Still fighting me?” he growled. “When are you going to learn that if there’s any bending to be done between us, you’ll do it?”

She subsided against him, her eyes blazing, wide with fury. “I hate you!” she mouthed deliberately.

He chuckled softly. “No, you don’t,” he said, his glittering eyes narrow with amusement as he looked down at her. “You hate not being able to argue with me, but you don’t hate me. I’ll never let that happen, Heather.”

The shock of hearing her name on his lips brought a faint frown to her face. He rarely ever called her by name. It was as if he threw careless endearments at her to keep her at a distance.

He pushed the damp hair back from her face. “You’ll talk again,” he said in an uncommonly kind tone. “And you’ll sing, too, but you have to believe in yourself. Life is a challenge, Heather, not a gift. Nothing is handed to us without a little effort on our parts.”

But I did work, she tried to tell him, I did, even if I had the talent to begin with, I worked to polish it! But without her voice, only her eyes could speak for her.

He searched the blue, misty depths with a quiet intensity that fanned her pulse. In the sudden silence of the room, every emotion seemed magnified. He touched her mouth with a long finger and traced, very gently, every soft curve of it. His eyes followed the movement, very narrow, very intent….

Her lips parted involuntarily under that strange gaze, her breath rushed out in a soft sigh. When his eyes darted back up to hers, something in them made her want to tear away from him and run. She’d never before felt the electricity that was gathering between them now with all the intensity of a summer storm.

“Cole…” she whispered unthinkingly, the name coming to her lips with unconscious ease. She paused, startled at the sound of her own voice.

Cole smiled. “It’s taken you a long time, Heather,” he said quietly.

“For…what?” she mouthed, unwilling to trust herself to speak again.

“To wonder how it would feel if I took your mouth under mine,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed wildly with color as the words hit home. Suddenly everything was changed, upside down. She was being forced to admit something she’d submerged in her mind for ages—that she was aware of Cole as a man.

There was absolute stillness as two pairs of eyes met, asked questions, and waited for answers. Time hung, quivering, between them.


Chapter Three

Emma’s quick step in the hall outside broke the spell. Cole released Heather with reluctance, and she avoided his eyes as she stood quietly beside the window seat.

“Here I am,” Emma said with a smile, darting a quick look from her son to her stepdaughter. She didn’t mention the raw tension she felt in the room as she set down a tray on the bedside table. There was a steaming cup of hot chocolate and a slice of fresh cheesecake on the tray, and Heather suddenly realized how hungry she was.

She smiled and mouthed “thank you” at the older woman, who beamed.

“Don’t forget Tessa, dear,” Emma told her son as she sat down in the wing chair by the bed.

“As if I could,” he replied with a frankly sensual smile. Without even glancing in Heather’s direction, he turned and strode with catlike grace to the door. “I think Heather’s on the road to recovery. She was just able to say my name out loud,” he called over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him.

Tessa. Heather felt a queer emptiness as she recalled the other girl’s jet-black hair, swinging down to an impossibly narrow waist, and her black eyes that always kept the men jumping at parties. Tessa was the only daughter of a neighboring rancher, and as spoiled as a three-day-old dead fish. Anything she wanted, she got. And for years now, she’d wanted Cole.

“It’s Tessa’s birthday.” Emma was chattering as if Heather had been paying rapt attention. “Cole’s flying her to a concert in San Antonio. Poor dear, she’s spent weeks choosing just the right dress.”

Poor dear, indeed, Heather thought. Tessa would walk over Joan of Arc to get to Cole. And anything that threatened to take him away, even briefly, was in danger of attack. Heather’s last visit home had been ruined by Tessa’s jealousy. Somehow she’d managed to cheat Heather out of any time alone with Cole during the hectic three-day stopover between singing engagements.

Tessa was envious of the younger girl’s career, her clothes, her beauty. She took every opportunity to throw catty remarks at her—remarks that went over Cole’s head and far right of Emma’s forgiving nature. It was like being clawed to death by an invisible enemy with everyone watching. Tessa had always been Heather’s worst enemy. Now, at least, the younger girl knew how to protect herself. In the past, when Heather’s mother was alive, she’d been more vulnerable.

Tessa had six years’ advantage on the gangly child Heather had been, and in her late teens, she was unusually sophisticated for her age, just the kind of girl to appeal to a woman like Deidre Shaw. Tessa had spent more time at Big Spur than she had in her own home, and Heather had received nothing but the leftover crumbs of her mother’s affection. When Deidre Shaw succumbed to pneumonia, it was Tessa she called for to nurse her. And at the funeral a few short weeks later, Heather felt as distant from her mother in death as she had in life.

Two years later Emma Everett, recently widowed herself, agreed to marry Jed Shaw and take Heather under her wing. Their families had always been close because of Jed’s friendship with Big Jace Everett. With both Emma and Jed suffering the loneliness of bereavement, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for them to turn to each other. Emma and Cole were a part of Big Spur from the moment they moved in, and for the first time in her life Heather was surrounded by the warmth and affection she’d always longed for.

Cole! A tremor swept over her slender body. She’d always thought of him as her big brother. What if he did kiss her? That thought was new, and faintly shocking, as if it were forbidden to even consider any intimacy with him. But they weren’t blood kin; they weren’t related at all, even distantly. That made her vulnerable. It meant Cole could kiss her, touch her, and there was no reason for him to restrain himself. He could even make love to her….

Her face went scarlet. Surely her innocence would protect her—or would it? Despite the affection Cole had always felt for her, he was a man. And something she’d seen in his eyes today for the first time had convinced her that his attitude toward her had changed. Cole was the kind of man who wouldn’t accept limits. He was far too experienced to revert to adolescence for the sake of a woman, and Heather didn’t know how she was going to protect herself if he decided he wanted her.

With a sigh, she pulled herself up straight. All she had to go on was a new look in Cole’s eyes, and she might have misread the situation entirely. Perhaps he’d only been teasing, and here she was going wild at an imagined intimacy.

She jerked her mind back to Emma’s running commentary on the ranch, and her efforts to set up a day-care center for children of working mothers in the area. That was it, she’d only imagined Cole’s interest. But in the back of her mind, she could still hear his male voice, quiet and dangerous, awakening dormant longings deep inside her.

Three days later, Heather was convinced that she’d imagined it all. Cole was pleasant but distant with her; there was nothing romantic in his attitude. He didn’t go out of his way to find her, but he didn’t avoid her either. He was his old self, on the surface at least, and Heather began to relax as her voice and her confidence slowly returned. But sometimes she caught his silver eyes flashing toward her, and once she met a look from them that held a strange anger, almost hatred, and the intensity of it unnerved her. What had she done to make Cole dislike her so? Perhaps, she mused, he was regretting that remark he’d made and hoping she would be adult enough not to take it seriously.

* * *

Tessa swept in like a conquering army the next day, all false smiles and sweetness. She was playing up to Cole as usual while Heather sat and watched with a new emptiness in her heart.

“I was so sorry to hear about your accident.” Tessa sighed, waving a perfectly manicured hand toward Heather. “You never were much of a driver, were you, darling? I remember the day you ran Cole’s Ferrari through the corral fence.” She laughed cuttingly, her black eyes snapping at the taller woman. “What a mess! And Cole was simply furious, weren’t you, darling?” She laughed huskily, worshiping the man beside her on the couch with her eyes.

Cole smoked his cigarette silently, and his eyes narrowed, moving deliberately over Heather’s slender body. She was wearing a silky beige pantsuit that hugged her slim curves like a caress.

Heather looked at his brown leather boots instead of his face, and she was alarmed at her own reaction to his blatant stare. He was only doing it to needle her, she told herself. He wasn’t really interested.

Tessa continued her monologue. “We had a lovely time in San Antonio,” she told the younger girl. “It was a Bach concert, so pleasant on the ears. Nothing like this vulgar modern stuff,” she added with distaste. “I don’t like pop music.”

And that, Heather thought, was a nice dig. Just the right touch of backhanded courtesy. Tessa knew full well that Heather sang pops. Or had, until the accident.

“Have you tried singing since the accident?” Tessa asked with feigned concern. “Cole told me you’re pretty nervous about how your voice will be—I guess this could mean the end of your career, couldn’t it?”

Heather got up from her seat and left the room without a look or a backward glance. She was hurting too much to fight back, even if she’d had a voice to fight with.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?” Tessa murmured, a good imitation of regret in her silky voice. “Poor little thing…”

Heather kept right on walking.

* * *

She lay awake late that night, the harsh words haunting her. Would she sing again? Did she have the courage to go back to Houston and pick up the pieces of her career? Memories of the emptiness, the loneliness, the long hours of singing in dark, smoky clubs filled her mind.

The door opened in the middle of her deep thoughts, and Cole came in, closing it behind him. He was in evening clothes, devastating in his elegant dark suit and spotless white silk shirt. His tie was off and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, where bronzed skin and curling black hair made a dark wedge against the whiteness of the silk. He looked sublimely masculine, sensual, and Heather felt vulnerable in her frothy pink nightgown, even with the quilted coverlet pulled up over her waist. She had to fight to keep from pulling it up to her throat, especially when Cole’s glittering eyes narrowed on the curves of her small, high breasts exposed by its plunging neckline.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard and shook her tousled blond head.

He paused beside the bed, his hands on his slim hips, and stared boldly down at her.

“Nervous, honey?” he asked with amusement when she jerkily pulled up the covers.

She flushed and glared up at him.

He chuckled softly. “Little saint,” he chided. “I probably know more about a woman’s body than you do.”

I don’t doubt that for a minute, she thought furiously, and knew he could read the thought in her mind.

He reached down and touched her tousled hair tenderly. “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly. “Did Tessa upset you?”

She chewed on her lower lip and averted her gaze. “Yes,” she said softly.

“She doesn’t understand,” he reminded her. “Tessa never wanted a career. She’d rather work at being a woman.”

Her eyes darted up to his curiously, searching them in the silence that followed.

His eyes narrowed at the scrutiny. “No, I don’t sleep with her,” he said harshly.

Her lips parted slightly as she gasped. She hadn’t been wondering about that at all.

“And even if I did,” he added ominously, “it wouldn’t be any business of yours.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She couldn’t understand what had set him off.

“But then, you’ve never been interested in that side of my life, have you, Heather?” His silver eyes darted over her face. “You’ve never wondered if I had women.”

That was true. But she was beginning to be curious about him in ways that shocked her.

He laughed, but without mirth. “It’s just as well, little one. There wouldn’t be any future in it. I’ve got thirteen years on you.”

She’d never thought about the age difference between them before. It hadn’t mattered. But suddenly it seemed to matter, to Cole anyway.

“We’re going to Nassau the first of the month,” he tossed out. “I need a break as much as you do, and it will do Emma good to get away from here for a while. I can spare two or three days. The sun will help you relax.”

She smiled up at him. Nassau was one place she’d always wanted to see, but Cole was so busy that holidays with him were rare. Perhaps this trip would provide an opportunity to bridge the rift that was steadily growing between them.

“Lovely little girl,” he murmured, looking down at her with a half-smile on his dark, hard face. “You glow when you smile at me.”

Her smile widened and she reached out involuntarily to catch his hand and clasp it tightly. She felt him stiffen at the touch and draw away from her.

The smile left her face and she looked down at the coverlet with a wounded expression. She felt his silent rejection as keenly as a knife twisting inside her.

“Get some sleep, Heather,” he said roughly, turning away. “Things will look better in the morning.”

* * *

But they didn’t. Not the next morning, or the morning after that. Cole’s temper became legendary over the next few days. It was increasingly dangerous to go near him.

“I only asked him if I could drive into town,” one of the cowboys moaned to Emma, “and he threw a bridle at me.”

“Thank your lucky stars that there wasn’t a horse attached to it,” Emma told him calmly. The mischievous smile she gave him made her look twenty years younger. “You know how Cole is, Brandy.”

“Yes’m,” agreed the grizzled old cowboy. “But usually he only gets like this when something awful goes wrong. Like that time Moze ran the jeep over his favorite shepherd dog. Or during roundup when the calves give us fits.”

“Pretend it’s roundup and bear with him,” Emma said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Brandy drew a long-suffering breath. “He threw a board at Herb,” he muttered, turning to stride away. “Only asked could he go to Johnson’s house to see his girl.”

Heather smothered a smile, shaking her head.

Emma glanced at her. “You wouldn’t know what’s wrong with him, I suppose?” she fished.

“Ask Tessa,” she returned, too quickly. “He’s been like this ever since that night he took her to the country-club dance.”

“That’s true,” Emma recalled. “But I seem to remember that he stopped by your room on his way to bed.”

Heather stared at her feet. “Just to see why I was awake,” she replied. It was nice to be able to talk, although she still hadn’t regained full use of her voice. She hadn’t dared try to sing yet. She knew it was too soon.

“He glares at you,” Emma remarked. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”

Heather shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ve noticed,” she admitted. His anger had hurt, too, because she didn’t understand what she’d done to cause it. But she wasn’t about to tell Emma that.

“He’s looked after you for seven years and more,” the older woman reminded her. “Now you’re independent. You don’t really need him anymore. He’s finding that hard to accept, I think. He’s very possessive of you.”

“I found that out in the hospital,” Heather replied with a sigh.

“So did the rest of us,” Emma mused. “He went right through the ceiling when the hospital called the house and asked why he hadn’t come to see about you. Poor old Bill. I don’t think he’s ever going to get over what Cole said to him. Cole was like a wild man that night. Do you know, he took the plane up without having it checked? That’s a first.”

It certainly was. But Heather didn’t want to think too deeply about it. “He didn’t like Gil,” she murmured.

“The journalist?” Emma laughed. “You know he hates reporters. He’s been hounded by them too much over the years. Maybe he thought Mr. Austin was trying to get to him through you.”

She hadn’t considered that. “Yes, he might have,” she said, nodding.

“And, too…oh!” Emma went white and almost doubled over, sweat beading her forehead.

“Emma, what’s wrong!” Heather cried, holding up her stepmother’s thin form. “What is it?”

“Indigestion,” came the angry, muttered reply. “Oh, it makes me so mad. I’m going to have to see a doctor eventually, but I keep thinking it’ll just go away by itself.”

“Are you sure that’s what it is?” Heather studied Emma’s wan face and pained expression.

Emma stood erect by herself, breathing heavily as she tried to compose herself. She managed a smile. “Yes, dear, I’m sure,” she assured the younger woman. “Goodness, I have these attacks all the time. I just take a dose of soda or antacid and they go away. Nothing but indigestion.”

Heather’s set face relaxed. She couldn’t bear for anything to be wrong with Emma. It would hurt far too much to lose her.

Tessa was back the next day, clinging to Cole, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. His eyes remained fixed on her slim figure, and Heather wanted to cry out. It had always bothered her to see them together, but it had never hurt like this. She was looking at Cole with new eyes now. He was powerfully built, his body every inch an athlete’s. He could never have been called handsome, but his very arrogance was magnetic, and the silvery eyes under his jutting brow could charm as well as chill when he wanted them to.

He lavished charm on Tessa that evening. Linking her slender fingers with his, he gave her all his attention as they discussed business in the living room. Tessa knew as much about ranching as her father did, and she had a shrewd business sense. But right now, she was busy being a woman, and Heather felt a surge of pure jealousy in the pit of her stomach as she glanced toward the living room on her way to bed. She remembered too well the feel of Cole’s fingers on her face, the sound of his deep voice. She longed for the touch of his mouth, and her own stirrings frightened her.

Jealousy like this usually accompanied love, she knew. But Cole was her stepbrother. Despite the fact that she’d always put him on a pedestal, he wasn’t an object of her desire…or was he?

* * *

Late the next afternoon, Heather strolled out toward the corral, dressed in jeans and a soft blue cotton shirt with a deep wine pullover sweater protecting her from the chill. There were dark clouds overhead and a storm was threatening. If it had been spring or summer, she’d have sworn it was tornado weather. Even though a tornado was unlikely at this time of year, the wind was fierce.

In the corral, Cole was just swinging into the saddle of a horse Alonzo was breaking for the remuda. His tall figure was immediately recognizable as he caught the reins in one hand and ordered the men back. All at once the chestnut horse became a blur of frantic motion, but Cole’s posture was faultless as he rocked with the horse, whipping back and forth in the saddle as if he’d been stuck to it with instant glue. His batwing chaps flying, he clenched his hat in one lean, powerful hand while the other controlled the furious animal. Cowboys hung on to the fence, laughing and cheering, and she could see the excitement of the challenge in Cole’s hard face even at a distance. There was confidence in every line of his body, confidence coupled with a lithe grace that was blatantly masculine.

The horse gave up long before Cole and stood panting wildly, its legs trembling from exertion. Cole dismounted and gently patted the soft mane, talking to the horse in the same quiet way that he had often spoken to Heather when she was frightened.

When he saw her standing there, his face seemed to go even harder. He looked up as the first drops of rain burst out of the sky and said something to his men. Then he slammed his hat down over his eyes at its usual arrogant slant and started toward her, stripping off the batwing chaps as he walked. He held them over one arm and caught her around the waist with the other, herding her toward the nearby barn as the sky opened up and dumped a spray of liquid bullets onto them.

“You can’t afford a chill right now,” he shot at her. “Run, girl!”

She raced beside him, exhilarated even as his long legs easily outdistanced her. When they reached the barn, her face was flushed, her eyes laughing, her hair in a glorious tumble. Inside, two rows of neat stalls were separated by a long aisle filled with fresh honey-colored wood shavings that made a cushion on the hard ground. She pushed her hair out of her blue eyes and laughed up at Cole as they stood by the door, watching the cold rain pelt down on the paddocks between the barn and the house.

His eyes flicked over her and moved away, back to the rain. He tossed the chaps and his hat aside, idly reaching in his pocket for a cigarette. She watched him light it, her eyes drawn to his strong, tanned fingers as they worked the lighter. The nails were flat and clean, despite the manual labor he occasionally engaged in.

“I didn’t know you still rode broncs,” she said, breaking the tense silence.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he replied without looking at her. He leaned against the barn wall and stared out at the rain with narrowed gray eyes.

That was true. Cole had always been something of a mystery: a secretive, very private person who allowed no one, not even his stepsister, too close.

“Cole, what have I done?” she asked suddenly, unable to bear his coolness a second longer.

He still didn’t look at her. “What makes you think you’ve done anything?”

She lowered her eyes to the ground and moved the wood shavings around lightly with the toe of her boot. “I don’t know…you’re very distant with me lately.”

He laughed mirthlessly, with a sound that was as harsh as the rapping of the rain on the roof or the rumble of thunder.

“Don’t laugh,” she murmured. “We were always close, even when we argued. But it’s all changed now, and I don’t understand why.”

He took a long draw from the cigarette. The howl of the wind echoed through the cozy warmth of the barn; the thunder made the ground shiver. Without warning, his eyes came around to pierce hers, and the intensity of his gaze made her want to back away. “You made the choice, not me,” he said roughly.

She blinked at him. “What choice?”

“To turn your back on your family and carve out a career for yourself,” he said coldly.

She felt shivers run down her arms and she averted her eyes. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you? It was the first time in my life I ever went against you, and you’ll die remembering.” She shook back her hair angrily. “I worshiped you, Cole!” she threw at him, her eyes half-hurt, half-angry.

His jaw went taut. “When will you understand that I don’t want hero worship from you?” he shot at her.

Her lower lip pouted at him. “What do you want?” she challenged.

He threw the cigarette outside into the rain and moved toward her before she could read the intent in his glittering eyes. She shrank back against the rough boards as he propped his lean, brown hands on the wall on either side of her head and eased his body completely down against hers, pinning her there in a silence that burned with emotion. She felt his chest, warm and hard through the layers of clothing, pressing against her soft breasts, his flat stomach and powerful legs in intimate contact with her own.

“Let me show you what I want,” he growled, and what she read in his eyes made her pulse run wild with frightened anticipation.

“Cole…you can’t!” she whispered shakily, her eyes wide and bright.

His eyes dropped to her soft mouth. “Why can’t I?” he challenged. “You’ve done everything but go down on your knees and beg me for it since you came out of the hospital.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, and his dark head bent swiftly. He caught her parted lips with his own, and she felt their rough, demanding warmth for the first time. Her body went rigid as he twisted her lips roughly under his, not a trace of gentleness in him. He was angry and the kiss was the medium of that anger. She moaned weakly under the painful crush of his mouth, his body.

He drew back, breathing hard, his eyes blazing straight into hers from a distance of inches. He studied her tear-bright eyes mercilessly. “How does it feel?” he demanded gruffly.

Her lips trembled. “I…I don’t know,” she whispered, shaken by the close contact with his powerful, hard-muscled body, by the scent of tobacco and oriental cologne that clung to him, by the lingering taste of his mouth.

“You wanted it,” he accused, something violent in the flash of his eyes.

Her breath caught on a sob. “Not anymore,” she got out. “Please let me go.”

He hesitated an instant before he shoved himself away from her and stepped back. His eyes surveyed the damage, the tears shining beneath her eyelashes, the sudden pallor of her face. Then she darted out the door into the storm, oblivious to the driving rain that drenched her before she reached the safety of the house. She was equally oblivious to the narrowed gray eyes that watched her every step of the way.


Chapter Four

Heather pleaded a headache and avoided going to the supper table, thankful that Emma didn’t pursue her with tablets or questions. She didn’t know that the older woman had immediately spotted the heightened color of her face and the shocked confusion in her eyes.

She went straight up to her own room to lock herself in and stare dumbfounded at the image in her mirror. Her face was a stranger’s, with its wide, blue eyes and wildly flushed cheeks. Her mouth had a suddenly passionate look about it, and even now she could taste the smoky warmth of Cole’s mouth with her tongue.

Her eyes closed against the image. Her body could still feel the powerful crush of his. She’d never realized before just how strong he really was. No amount of effort on her part would have freed her—despite the fact that she’d been too shocked to struggle. And he’d had the audacity to say she’d tempted him!

Tempted him, indeed! As if she would have dared to measure her inexperience against his expertise. Not even a novice could have come out of those powerful arms ignorant of the fact that he’d had women. Despite his anger, he had been devastatingly expert. She was grateful that he hadn’t been persuasive as well, because she’d never have been able to resist him.

She folded her arms around her shivering body and went to the window to watch the rain come down. Had she tempted him? If looking at him or touching him was temptation, why hadn’t this happened years ago? She sighed, shaking her tousled head. He’d always known that she put him on a pedestal in her mind. Why had he suddenly decided to come tumbling down from it?

The questions nagged at her far into the night. She wanted to run, like a calf faced with a branding iron. She was afraid of Cole in a new and exciting way. She’d seen him as a lover, and it frightened her to be vulnerable to him.

She thought about leaving Big Spur to go back to Houston. She could call one of her many contacts in the entertainment world and try to line up a job. But was that what she really wanted? She hadn’t yet tested her singing voice and she knew that her hesitancy came from a reluctance to make any hard and fast decisions about her career. It was her singing that had caused the breach between her and Cole—should she continue to pursue it despite his objections?

She had already begun to question herself about her career before the accident. Now those doubts returned to haunt her.

In her weakened state, how would she adjust to the exhausting pace of an engagement schedule? Two shows a night, every night, six days a week, and constant rehearsals. And how would she fight the overwhelming loneliness that assailed her every time she ran away from Big Spur and Cole?

* * *

She went down the stairs reluctantly the next morning, dressed in jeans and a soft yellow V-necked sweater, her hair in a sophisticated French twist at the back of her long, graceful neck. She was hoping against hope that Cole would be off on another trip, or downtown at his business office in Branntville.

But he was still at the breakfast table, alone and brooding. His fingers toyed with a coffee cup that was obviously empty. His dark hair was unruly over his jutting brow, his burgundy shirt open at the throat and straining across the powerful muscles of his chest. He looked forbidding, and Heather paused uncertainly in the doorway, her mind urging retreat.

As if he sensed her presence, he looked up, and something flashed in his silver eyes like summer lightning.

The events of the day before stood between them, the memory of them coming alive as her eyes went involuntarily to his hard mouth. She vividly remembered the crush of his lips against hers. She even remembered the scent of him, the clean warmth of his face, the feel of his body….

“You might as well come in,” he said in a curt, angry tone. “It won’t go away.”

She lifted her face proudly and refused to be drawn into asking him what he meant. She sat down two chairs away from him and reached for the coffeepot. Her fingers trembled slightly as she filled a cup. “Where’s Emma?” she asked, trying to make idle conversation.

“Gone into town to see the doctor,” he replied curtly.

She frowned. “Is there something wrong?” she asked in concern.

Cole shook his head. “It’s just that indigestion she’s been complaining of lately—I finally convinced her to see the doctor about it.” His eyes shot to her face, cutting and hard. “Now, are there any other topics you’d like to cover before we discuss what’s really on both our minds?”

She stared at the reflection of the chandelier in her black coffee. “I don’t want to talk about it, Cole,” she said in a low voice.

He drew a short breath and lit a cigarette with quick jerky movements. He took a draw from it before he looked up, and his gaze didn’t miss the dark circles under her eyes. “Did I hurt you, Heather?” he asked in a tone that she’d never heard him use before.

Her cheeks went dusky pink, and she could only manage to shake her head.

He murmured something harsh under his breath before he leaned back in the chair with a violent motion, throwing one muscular arm over the back of it so that his shirt was stretched taut over his broad, hair-shadowed chest. His eyes narrowed as he took another draw from the cigarette and expelled it forcefully. “Will you look at me, damn it?”

Her eyes jerked up apprehensively. Everything she felt, the confusion and the hurt, showed in her face.

“Didn’t you realize,” he said quietly, “that every look you’ve given me lately has been an open invitation? We’ve lived like brother and sister for the past seven years, but the fact remains that there isn’t a drop of blood between us. We don’t even share a mutual cousin. There’s nothing to stop me, Heather.”

She averted her eyes to the colorful arrangement of mums on the table and she swallowed hard. “I…wasn’t trying to…to tempt you,” she said. “I’ve looked at you…like I always have.”

“No,” he said.

Her eyes flashed at him. “I’ll wear blinders from now on, that’s for sure,” she threw back.

“Afraid of me?” he asked with a slow, sensual smile.

“Terrified!” she replied.

He finished the cigarette and crushed it out in the ashtray beside his plate. “Why, because I hurt you?”

“You weren’t gentle,” she said in a subdued tone.

His eyes caught hers. “I’m not a gentle man. I’m hot-blooded and I like my women the same way. I’ve never made love to an adolescent before. I was rough with you because I’m used to women who know the rules. You don’t.”

Her face was the color of a boiled beet when he got through. Her pride was in shreds as she glared at him. “I’m not an adolescent!”

“You kiss like one.”

Her eyes flashed blue sparks at him, and he smiled lazily at the indignation in them.

“That wasn’t a kiss,” she returned furiously. “It was an assault!”

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound of it deep and pleasant and maddening.

“Well, it was!” she grumbled, toying with her coffee cup.

“Have you ever been made love to properly?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.

She avoided his patient stare. “What’s that got to do with it?” she asked uneasily.

“A lot. Apparently you’re used to men who’ll settle for light pecks on the lips and an occasional embrace.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “I like my kisses hard and rough and deep. I like to feel a woman’s body against every inch of mine.”

“So I noticed,” she said, trying to ignore the wave of embarrassment that swept over her.

“Did you? You were standing there so rigid you felt like stone. If you’d let that soft young body relax against mine, it wouldn’t have hurt.” One corner of his chiseled mouth went up in a wicked smile. “You might even have enjoyed it.”

“Cole!” she gasped, outraged.

He chuckled, pushing back his chair. “We’ll try it again when you grow up a little,” he said, lifting an arrogant eyebrow at her as he started out of the room. “I don’t like making love to children.”

“You…egomaniacal beast!” she ground out.

But he only kept walking. She drained her coffee cup with a furious disregard for the temperature of the coffee, so angry she wanted to throw things. No other man had ever inspired in her the violence of emotion that Cole did. He could make her feel positively murderous.

* * *

“I see flames rising from your hair,” Emma remarked as Heather joined her in the living room later that afternoon.

“I want to burn Cole at the stake,” she said without thinking.

“What’s he done now?” the older woman asked with amusement in her dark eyes.

“What hasn’t he done!” Heather’s blue eyes burned. “He’s the most maddening, irritating man I’ve ever known!”

“Fire and ice,” Emma agreed with a tender smile, “just like his father. Jason was that way, too.”

Heather studied the softness in the other woman’s face as she spoke. “You loved him very much, didn’t you?”

The brown eyes were wistful. “All the way to my soul. It very nearly killed me when he died. Cole was the only reason I didn’t throw myself over a cliff. Oh, your father was a great comfort to me in later years, but Jason was…everything.”

“Did he look like Cole?” she asked.

“Exactly. He was a handsome devil, all right. Always had women chasing him—even after we were married! Why, your own mother used to flirt with him outrageously. It didn’t bother me, though. Jason never had eyes for anyone but me.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“At a rodeo.” Emma laughed. “He was one of the suppliers, and my brother was riding one of the broncs he supplied. I looked at him and I knew I’d die if I couldn’t have him. He must have felt the same way—” she sighed “—because we married six days later.”

“My goodness!” Heather gasped. She and Emma had never talked about Cole’s father until now, and she was fascinated. “Talk about whirlwind courtships!”

“It was crazy, all right, but Jason always did impulsive things. Like riding that bronc…” The light in her eyes seemed to go out, like a candle extinguished by a strong, bitter wind.

“Tell me how your day-care center is going,” Heather said quickly, changing the subject.

Emma’s face brightened again as she launched into the details of her latest project.

* * *

The tension between Cole and Heather was almost palpable, and Emma glanced suspiciously from one to the other at the supper table. “It’s cold out today,” she said finally.

“Arctic,” Cole agreed with a glance. “We’re going to Nassau in the morning.”

“In the morning!” Emma burst out. “But we haven’t even packed…!”

“To hell with packing,” he growled. “Buy what you need when we get there. I’m not dragging along a truckload of suitcases.”

Heather stared at him in bewilderment. “You said we’d go the first of the month,” she murmured.

His eyes narrowed on her face. “And I’ve changed my mind. Did you have any other plans…like visiting that damned reporter?”

She gaped at him. “You told Gil he couldn’t come here,” she reminded him.





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