Rawhide and Lace (14 page)

So that was it. It had all been defensive on his part, and, as his father had taught him, the best defense was a good offense. She searched his hard face. "Bruce said you hated me."

His eyes darkened. "I know. I read the letters. It wasn't true. He played on my ego for all he was worth." He took one of her hands in his and stared at it for a long moment. "He said you laughed at me. At the way I was with you."

She shook her head slowly, deliberately. "That was the biggest lie of all."

He touched her face with gentle, searching fingers. "I'm sorry that I hurt you," he said. "That was the last thing I wanted, despite what I said at the time."

She felt like a young girl again, all shyness and excitement. "It wasn't all that bad," she told him. "I liked...touching you."

He remembered her hands, slowly exploring, feeling the hard contours of his body, deliciously uninhibited. He began to tremble. "God!"

"Ty..." She looked up with tormented eyes.

"Come here," he said roughly, pulling her hard against him, wrapping her up in a bearish embrace. "Come close. They say it helps if you hold each other until the ache goes away."

She closed her eyes and felt the rigidity slowly draining out of both of them. She was reminded of a particular passage in a book about lovemaking she'd once read. If a woman wasn't satisfied, it had said, she could ease the ache by being held very hard. Somehow Ty had known this.

"Do you read books about sex?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied dryly. "Don't you?"

"Not a lot," she confessed. "I found out more by listening to some of my girlfriends."

"What wild lives they must lead."

"You wouldn't believe it!" And she told him some of their adventures, right down to the scandalous details.

"For a shy girl, you tell a good story," he said, laughing. "Feeling better now?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured. "Are you?"

"I guess I'll live." He let her go reluctantly, looking into the softness of her eyes, enjoying the vivid alertness of her face. "What a change," he remarked, "from the pale little ghost I found in that New York apartment."

"I was pretty down," she admitted. "Life wasn't offering much just then."

He took both her hands in his. "I'll make it up to you," he said. "All of it, every bit."

"Ty..."

"Soak in a hot tub for a while, now," he advised, letting her go. "I have some outside work to get through. Later, I'll ride into Ravine with you and we'll pick out a wedding ring."

"All right." She watched him leave, her eyes soft and caring. Things were changing so rapidly. And what had begun as a trial, a fearful readjustment, was fast becoming the greatest joy of her life. She felt all the pain and bitterness draining out of her, being replaced by a growing excitement and feeling of closeness.

If only she could believe that he really felt something for her, something more than pity and desire and a need to make restitution for what he'd done to her. It was so difficult to read him, even now. She didn't want pity or guilt from him. She thought about the tenderness of his hands, the hungry roughness of his mouth...She wanted him, that was undeniable. But she wanted something else as well. She wanted him to...need her. Yes. Need her. Because she...needed him. There was another word, too, a deeper word. But she was afraid to even think it. That would come later, perhaps, if things worked out.

She went back to the hated exercises for the first time without being told. She had to get back on her feet, she had to be whole again; because it was imperative that she show him she could stand alone. Then, if he still turned to her after that, without pity and without guilt...then there might be the hope of something deeper between them.

But until he saw her as a woman, and not some crippled songbird with a broken spirit, she could never be sure of him-or herself.

Chapter Eight

Ty and Erin were married in a quiet ceremony in the small Presbyterian church where the Wades had worshiped for two generations.

Erin wore a white street-length dress with long sleeves and a high neckline. She'd hoped that she wouldn't need her cane, but it was still difficult to walk without it.

Ty was wearing a well-tailored three-piece suit, and he looked debonair and worldly. He towered over Erin, even though she wore high heels, and she felt small and vulnerable standing next to him.

A handful of people witnessed the ceremony, including Ty's foreman, Stuart Grandy, Conchita and Jose, and a few neighbors. It only took a few minutes, and as Ty slid the small circle of gold onto her finger, he brushed his lips gently against her mouth in a kiss that was more promise than reality.

Erin felt tears burning her eyes, and she tried desperately not to cry. Ty seemed to realize that her emotions were in turmoil because he smiled at her and produced a handkerchief as well-wishers gathered around them.

"Well, somebody had to cry at my wedding," she said, dabbing her eyes, "and who better than me?"

"I'd cry, too, if I had to marry him," declared Red Davis, one of Ty's cowhands.

Ty glared at him. "There went your Christmas bonus."

Red grinned. He was only in his early twenties, and full of rowdy humor. "Think so? In that case, wait until tonight, boss."

"You set one foot on my homestead and I'll load my Winchester," Ty told him.

"Reverend Bill, did you hear what he just said?" Red called out to the tall, bespectacled minister. "He says he's going to shoot me!"

"I never!" Ty said, looking shocked.

Reverend Bill Gates chuckled as he joined them. "I heard why he said that, Red, and if you go onto his porch, I'll lend him some buckshot for his shotgun."

Red shook his head sorrowfully. "Shame on you."

Bill grinned. "Shame on you."

Ty took Erin's hand in his and braced himself for all the congratulations. She wondered if he found this as much of an ordeal as she did. She wasn't all that comfortable in public yet, with her scars still visible and her self-confidence shot to pieces. But she leaned on Ty instead of the cane and forced herself to smile.

Eventually, they returned to Staghorn for the reception. Conchita had taken care of all the details, and had even hired a caterer to help so that there would be plenty of food. It seemed to take forever for the guests to eat their fill, and by then Ty was into a heavy discussion with two of the neighboring ranchers about the growing number of oil fields in the area.

Erin felt guilty for being so irritable, but she was fuming long before the last piece of cake had been finished off. She went into the kitchen with Conchita and helped her wash dishes.

"Is not right," Conchita grumbled, glaring down at la senora. "On your wedding day, this is not the proper thing for you to be doing."

"That's right," Erin agreed. "So you wade in there and tell my new husband that."

"Not me," Conchita replied. "I like my job."

"You and I could take this terrific dishwashing routine on the stage," she told the housekeeper. "We'd make a fortune."

Conchita stared at her, round-eyed. "Perhaps it is the fever."

"I don't have a fever."

"No?" Conchita grinned, her teeth a flash of white in her dark face.

Erin flushed and grabbed at a dishtowel. "I'll dry."

"As you wish, senora."

Ty found them there half an hour later. He stopped in the doorway, watching. "What a hell of a way to spend your wedding day," he said shortly.

"No, it's not," Erin replied, smiling poisonously over her shoulder. "It's super. Conchita and I are going to take this great act on the stage. We'll win awards."

"I wouldn't buy a ticket."

"You're just jealous because nobody would pay to watch you and Mr. Hawes and Mr. Danson stand around and talk oil and cattle for two hours."

"So that's it," be murmured.

"Now you will get an insight into the true nature of woman," Conchita informed him, putting her dishtowel aside. "Go off and fight, and then you can make up properly. Jose is taking me in to town to shop for Christmas, so you will have the house all to yourselves."

They waited, glaring at each other in silence, until she'd left the kitchen.

"I don't want to make up with you," she told him furiously.

"So stay in here and pout," he replied. "I can always go work off my temper with the men."

"Good! Why don't you start a fight? Maybe I could sell tickets to that!"

He glared at her one last time, turned on his heel, grabbed his Stetson, slammed it onto his head, and stomped off toward the porch. The door crashed loudly behind him.

Erin flung a plate at the door. Unfortunately, it was one of those new unbreakable ones, and it only made a loud thud, not a satisfying shatter. She sighed and picked it up to wash it again. By the time she'd finished, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Ty stayed away all day. Conchita and Jose came home to find Erin in her own room and Ty outside with his men. They stared at each other for a moment and then shook their heads as they went about their business.

By early evening, Erin had taken a bath and settled into her bed, two short novels by her side. At eight-thirty she unlocked the door to Conchita, who bustled in with a bowl of homemade soup and some hot coffee. Erin closed her ears to Conchita's well-meant grumbling and in the process forgot to relock the door behind the housekeeper. She ate the soup, drank the coffee, and finished the second novel, by which time she had a genuine headache and a throbbing hip. She felt thoroughly miserable. She wished she'd never met Ty in the first place; she was sure that she hated him. Somewhere along the way she drifted off to sleep, tears drying on her cheeks.

Ty came in about midnight, dirty and disheveled and half out of humor, and found her asleep in her own room. He glared at her sleeping form for a long moment before he closed the door again and went to his room to spend a cold, unsatisfying night by himself.

The next morning, Erin was up before breakfast, exercising by herself in the living room. She'd show him! She'd get better, then she'd leave him! She'd go back to work and make a fortune and have men running after her all over the place, and then he'd be sorry! The thought gave her fresh energy. She was going full steam when Ty walked into the room, smoking a cigarette.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she replied sweetly. "I hope you had a horrible night?"

"I did, thanks. How about you?"

"I hardly slept."

"You were sawing logs when I came home," he remarked.

"Oh, then you did finally come home?" she asked sarcastically. "How kind of you."

"You started it," he muttered.

"No, you did." She glared at him. "Ignoring me like that in front of everybody, letting me go off and wash dishes on my wedding day! How could you!"

He took a deep breath. "I've been a bachelor for thirty-four years, and I'll remind you that this is no conventional love match. We got married to keep gossip down, didn't we? Or is there a reason I don't know about?"

He was right. She stared at him blankly while she went over their relationship in her mind. Then she forced herself to compare that reality to the idyllic little fantasy of mutual love she'd created. Finally she lowered her eyes.