Heather Graham (16 page)

“You asked me to,” she told him.

“Oh?” he said mockingly. “You would have married anyone who’d asked you?”

She stared at him, determined to be as cold as he—and not to cry. “I married you because I loved you.”

“Loved?”

“Stop it, Kane!” Martine hissed, knotting her fingers in her lap. “I saw you with Lisa, and I heard you talking to Joe.”

He was silent for a second. Then his fist slammed against the table. “Now you find it entertaining to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations?”

“
Eavesdrop
?” she echoed heatedly. “I was on the patio when you two came out.”

“I see. You just didn’t think it would be important to make your presence known.”

“I was too humiliated—having discovered my piteous self the center of the conversation,” Martine said coolly. But the composed and cynical effect of her words was completely destroyed by the little sob that escaped her throat.

“Martine …”

His anger faded as quickly and completely as it had come. He was down on one knee before her, grasping her hands, reaching to touch her chin and draw her eyes to his.

“No, Kane, stop it!” she pleaded. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“I love you, Martine,” he told her with quiet conviction, and her heart seemed to take a furious pound against her chest while flutters viciously attacked her stomach. It would be so easy to believe him. …

“It’s not good enough, Kane,” she said with a shaky swallow.

The pressure of his hand increased against her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Martine, I asked you before why you married me. You said that you loved me. If you love me, I want you to trust me. I swear I love you. I married you because I do. And maybe I pressed you, maybe I was in a rush. Martine, the day I met you, you were under attack.” He took a deep breath, and she was startled by the depth of feeling portrayed as he released it shakily. “I admit I’ve known some women, but Lisa isn’t one of them. But because of all I’ve known in the past, I knew that you were unique, that I loved you, that I wanted you all my life. When I saw you that day, I wanted to be with you, to fight all your battles with you. There was fire about you—and vulnerability. I knew I wanted you. And once I had you, I knew that I wanted to love, honor, and cherish you all my life. Can’t you believe that, Martine?” he asked wistfully.

She was silent for several seconds, very aware of the strength of his hands, tender now, aware of the power of his eyes, of his heat, his male scent. There was something disturbingly elemental about her feelings for him then. He was the man who could touch her and know her and make her feel so alive, so special. He could take everything from her, strip away her inhibitions, and give her mindless splendor. On a very base and shattering level, as old as time, she had become his, and perhaps he had become hers.

But these were not ancient times. Her heart, her emotions, and admittedly even her desires were swaying her mind. And no matter how much she loved and needed him, she could not allow herself to be a fool.

“I want to love you, Kane,” she told him honestly. “I want to trust you. But I’ve been lied to. I can’t trust you under those circumstances.”

He stood then and turned his back on her, his hands on his hips. “Martine, I can’t tell you exactly what’s going on. I made a promise to someone else. A vow,” he added, his tone becoming rueful for a moment, then becoming hard as he swung back to face her again. “If I swear to you that the matter has absolutely nothing to do with you and me, will you believe me?”

Martine decided that she did want coffee after all, just for something to do with her hands. She stood and poured herself a cup. “I—I don’t know,” she said at last, leaning against the counter and watching him as she sipped her coffee. “Maybe,” she murmured a little breathlessly, “if you’ll look at me and answer a few questions, I can try.”

He raised a brow at her. “Shoot,” he said a little coldly.

“What were you doing on the cliffs?”

“Trying to trap a cat.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t answer that; she didn’t really have any grounds to challenge him. “Were you up there the day that Ed had his accident?” she asked instead.

“
What
?”

“You heard me!” Martine retorted defensively. “Take a look at the whole picture, Kane.” She continued quickly, afraid that she would lose her nerve as she sensed his temper, like heat from an oven, rising to fill the kitchen with tension. “Ed winds up in the hospital, so I need a foreman. Then you suddenly appear at my door, looking for a job.”

He was silent for so long that she was tempted to throw down her cup and run from the kitchen. At last he muttered, “Bitch!” so softly that she wasn’t even sure he’d spoken the word but rather had mouthed it. He took a step toward her, and she did set down her cup, vaguely hearing how it rattled as her fingers shook with the motion. She would have run then, except there was nowhere to go. His arms were like the bars of a cell as he planted his hands on the counter on either side of her, a tower of leashed rage as he spoke to her with crisply enunciated words.

“I can’t believe that you would insult either of us so deeply with such a suggestion, but since you have, no, I did not cause Ed’s accident. Nor would I ever do such a thing. I believe someone was on the cliffs that day, but it wasn’t ME. Now, I’m going to tell you one last time that I love you. I’ve begged you to trust me. One day I can explain. I simply can’t do it now. There’s nothing I’m trying to take from you, Martine. You’re just going to have to accept that.”

She was almost afraid to speak, she had made him so furious. Yet she still couldn’t believe that he would hurt her. If she believed that, then it would be all over. And she did love him, even if she was confused and miserable and angry.

“I—I can’t accept it, Kane.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed, alarmed at the sudden fire in his eyes. But then she felt him move away from her. She opened her eyes to see him striding from the kitchen. A second later the front door slammed.

Shaking, Martie sat down at the table and burst into tears.

There was no one to hear her as her ragged sobs filled the kitchen. It seemed that they went on and on. …She felt very, very lost and alone.

But at length she cried herself out. She forced herself to rise and go to her bedroom, don a gown, and crawl into bed. She thought about locking the door against him. It would help prove her point.

But she didn’t really want to prove any points. Whether it was foolish or not, she wanted to give him the trust he had asked her for. She wanted him to come home, to come to the bedroom, to shed his clothes and sleep beside her.

He did come back sometime during the night, or perhaps it was near dawn. By then Martie was so groggy that all she really knew was that he climbed in beside her, warm and strong and sleek.

But he didn’t touch her; he lay on his side of the bed.

She was the one who could not bear the distance. With a sob she curled against him. Immediately his arms went around her. He pulled her close, and his words were a kiss, a caress against her forehead. “I love you, Martine. I love you so much it’s part of me. I love you. …”

She nodded against his chest, just glad to have him beside her and terrified to break the moment with more words. She touched him as if she were afraid he wasn’t real, her fingers trembling as she tentatively moved them over the muscles of his chest. She heard him suck in his breath and swallow hard; he was very still for a moment. Then he groaned, rolling to embrace her passionately, sliding his hand beneath her gown to caress her breast as he kissed her, his strong legs parting hers and coming between them. His hand roamed to that juncture, and in seconds she was gasping out inarticulate words as he stroked her intimately, finding the sweet source of her desire with the expertise of a lover who knew her well.

He was rough that night, very passionate and very demanding. He quickly brought her to a startling peak of pleasure, and before that could fully ebb, he was within her, strong and shattering as a storm, filling her as if he could indeed make them one.

Or perhaps leave his imprint on her like a brand forever. It didn’t matter. She wanted him. She cherished the feel of him, the volatile climax, the sensation of drifting down in his arms, the sleek feel of his skin, the sensation of his weight on her. Holding him as they drifted to sleep, Martine prayed that it was right, that it was real.

A week later Martine sat in the office. She was supposedly working on the books, but not a single figure made sense to her, and she gave up all pretense of working to chew on the eraser at the end of her pencil.

She and Kane had spent the days in an uneasy truce. It was as if neither of them wanted to speak for fear of bringing on arguments or questions. In front of others they were unerringly polite and cordial.

Only at night, in the dark, were they really free to touch each other, when the words they spoke were whispered and husky and filled with hunger.

Martine exhaled a long, loud sigh. On Tuesday Kane had disappeared for the entire day. He had done so again on Thursday.

And now, Monday night, he was gone again.

He had given her no explanation for his absence, nor had she asked for one. She knew that if he would have given her an answer, he would have volunteered the information in the first place.

“I’m crazy!” she said aloud. “I must be.”

Martine dropped the pencil and folded her arms over the desk to rest her head on top of them. How long could it go on? she asked herself miserably. She was not a weak woman, but she was acting like one. Did love make everyone weak? It shouldn’t, she thought. It should make her strong and secure. …

Sighing, she raised her head with new determination. He had accused her of following him; she was going to start to do just that!

Having decided that she was going to be a snoop, she was going to do it all the way. He was denying her explanations for reasons of his own; she had to have explanations for reasons of her own.

A little uneasily Martine stood and looked down the hallway before locking the office door. Most of Kane’s things were in her room now, but she had a hunch that anything he might not want her to find would still be in the office or in the foreman’s room somewhere. She decided to go through all the drawers and files in the office first. Then she would attack the foreman’s bedroom.

An hour later she had finished with the office and had been through everything in the foreman’s room except for Kane’s leather overnight bag. She hesitated briefly, feeling a little unethical and very squeamish about what she was doing. Then she reminded herself that she had married the man—a man who remained a stranger—and spent her nights sleeping with him.

If there was something dishonest going on, if the love was a lie, she had to know it.

She began to rifle through the bag: nothing but razor blades, shaving cream, shampoo, toothpaste, and a silver lighter. Sighing with frustration, Martine dropped the bag and sat cross-legged on the floor beside it, staring at it.

Then, slowly, she frowned. The bag looked deeper from the outside than it was on the inside.

She grabbed it again and by running her hands over the inner lining at last found a little tab. She pulled it, realizing that the bag had a false bottom. There she found a folded piece of paper in a plastic bag.

Shaking and swallowing and feeling her heart beat out like a wild drum, she picked up the plastic bag and very carefully pulled out the yellowing parchment within it. For long, long moments she stared at it in confusion, then realized that it was a map, one drawn up years ago.

It was a map of the Four-Leaf Clover.

She stared at it blankly for a long while, then somehow forced her mind to start working again. It was a treasure map of some kind. The marks on it led to the cliffs.

Fighting a wave of nausea, she strained her eyes against the almost illegible print. Eventually she was forced to admit the truth. It was very definitely a treasure map that led to a cache of gold—a cache of gold buried in the cliffs of the Four-Leaf Clover.

Martine started as she heard the front door open and slam. She had locked it, she knew. It could only be Kane.

She quickly returned Kane’s things to his bag, except for the map. She put the bag back where it had been and sped to the office, where she secreted the map beneath a pile of vouchers. At the last second she thought to jump up and unlock the office door quietly. Then she sat back down, searching frantically for her pencil, and lowered her head over the books.

Just in time. The door opened, and Kane entered, frowning. His hat was angled over his eyes so that she could read nothing from his expression even as she prayed that hers was as unfathomable.

“You’re still up working?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, hoping that the sound was louder than the thunder of her heart. “Where have you been?” she asked pointedly, determining that being on the offense was better than the defense.

“At Joe’s,” he said. “I had one of the cattle carcasses sent to a lab for analysis. They called today with the results.”

“And?”

“It’s possible they were purposely infected.”

“Oh?” Martine stared down at her papers again. Dear God, she should care. But right now she couldn’t believe anything. She suddenly thought that this whole thing was a ploy to divert suspicion from Kane.

“You don’t sound as if you’re even interested,” he said slowly, accusingly.

She smiled at him with no warmth. “I’m not supposed to be, remember? You embarrassed me in front of a roomful of people to crack the whip and tell me so.”

“Dammit, Martine,” he said, cold anger rising in his voice. But then he shook his head with disgust. “I’m not going to argue with you.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Good night.”

He hesitated for just a second. “You’re not coming?”

“No. I’m not quite done here.” Every muscle in her body seemed to knot with tension as she awaited his response. She felt as if he were poised like a tiger, ready to spring, and she almost screamed with the agony of the tension.