The Rogue (23 page)

Diana was already regretting the emotional scene with Holt at the house. It had exposed her weaknesses. Even though they enjoyed a mutual and powerful sexual attraction, there was too much bad blood between them, Guy, the Major, and the bitter rivalry. In a sense, Holt was still her enemy. She gave him this victory.

“Then it’s all straightened out,” the Major said.

This time it was Holt who replied: “Yes, it is.” His gaze locked briefly with Diana’s, measuring and steady. Then it was sliding to her father. “Excuse me, Major. I need to arrange the watches with the men.”

“Go right ahead. Have a good trip tomorrow.” When Holt moved off in the direction of the men, the Major turned to Diana. “Shall we go back to the house?”

“Yes.” She stepped down from the fence rail. “Where is Holt going?”

“He’s flying to California to look at a stallion there. I am relieved you and Holt came to an understanding,” her father said as they started back.

“Yes.”

“I have always wished the two of you could get along. Holt would have made a good husband for you. He’s hard-working, loyal . . . but,” the Major sighed, “it wasn’t to be. It’s a good thing I didn’t try any parental matchmaking.”

Diana nearly stopped dead at his comment. “Is that why you hired him? As a prospective husband for
me?” She could have added:
Is that why you groomed him and trained him to take over the ranch?

“Good heavens, no!” He laughed at her suggestion. “I hired him because he had the qualifications to fill the position I had open at the time. It was . . . three or four years later before I began to think of him in conjunction with you. By then you had already made a habit of rubbing each other the wrong way. I hoped the friction between you might spark something more. When it didn’t, that was that.”

“And you never said anything.”

“No. The last thing I wanted for you was a loveless marriage,” he said.

“Love can sometimes be an ugly thing.”

“You are thinking of Rand and what happened between the two of you,” the Major guessed. “It wasn’t love he felt for you, or he wouldn’t have spread those stories about you. Love is a warm and wonderful thing.”

Diana’s heart nearly stopped beating. “You heard those stories?”

“Yes, I heard them,” he admitted.

“I—”

“It isn’t necessary for you to explain,” interrupted the Major. “Just forget them.”

And Diana could tell by his tone of voice that he didn’t want to hear an explanation. He wanted the subject dropped and forgotten by both of them. Slipping her fingertips into the front pockets of her jeans, she let the conversation drift into less turbulent channels. Somehow it didn’t ease her conscience to learn the Major had heard the stories and chose to ignore them.

The stallion paid a second visit to the mares the following night. The accompanying noise awakened Diana and she had trouble getting back to sleep. It was late when she rose that morning. The Major had already breakfasted and was taking his morning rest.

At loose ends, Diana strolled out of the house
toward the stables. The sun was already warm on her skin. By afternoon, it would be hot. A haze covered the mountains, a cloud shadow racing across the slopes.

“Diana!”

She turned at the sound of her name, recognizing Guy’s voice. She hadn’t seen him at all these past two days, not since he had hurled those embittered words at her and ridden away to bring the mares up.

A breath-stealing pain swept through her at the long, effortless strides that were carrying Guy to her. Did he know how strongly his mannerisms sometimes reminded her of Holt? Diana mentally shook away the thought and noticed the flowers in his hand.

As he stopped in front of her, his gaze, uncertain and intent, searched her face. “A peace offering.”

She took the bouquet from his hand. “Wildflowers. They’re lovely, Guy.”

His tension seemed to melt at her response. “I did it deliberately—chose wildflowers, I mean,” he explained with a self-conscious laugh. “I thought about buying flowers in town, but these are you. You are a wildflower, Diana—delicate, untamed, and vulnerable to man’s intrusion. The other day I was trying to make you grow where I wanted you to grow. You can’t do that with a wildflower. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Why did he have to be so thoughtful and considerate? She was so tired of hurting people and letting them down. It would have been better if he had stayed angry with her . , . better for him. Diana couldn’t let Guy continue to idealize her.

“I was rude when I refused you so abruptly. The only excuse I have is that I had other things on my mind,” Diana said.

“We all have times when we don’t want to be with people.” His look was adoring.

Diana stared at the yellow flowers, drawing in a grim breath. “You shouldn’t be so understanding, Guy. It isn’t natural.”

“The only thing that comes natural to me is loving you.” His voice changed its pitch becoming vibrant and husky. “It seems that I’ve loved you all my life, Diana.”

“Don’t say that.” Her hands tightened around the flowers, crushing the stems.

“All right, I won’t say it anymore.” But they both knew it wouldn’t change the fact. “I was coming up to the house to see you. I have to drive into Ely to pick up a part. I thought maybe you’d like to ride along. It’d give you a chance to get away from the ranch and maybe do some shopping.”

The idea was appealing. Instead of refusing his invitation, as she knew she should do, Diana accepted it. “Are you leaving now?”

“In about an hour. I have a couple of things to do first, and”—he glanced down at his work clothes, dusty, with horsehairs clinging to the denim fabric—“I want to clean up.”

“That’s fine,” she agreed.

The hour’s delay gave Diana a chance to change and leave word with Sophie as to where she was going. Dressed in a gypsy skirt and a white peasant blouse with a gathered neckline, Diana went in search of Guy. He wasn’t in the ranch yard. Since he hadn’t mentioned which vehicle they’d be taking, she walked to the fourplex.

Pausing at the screen door of the largest unit, Diana knocked once, calling, “Guy?”

A fan whirred loudly inside, circulating the warm air. Without hesitating, Diana walked inside. Her head was tipped at an angle, listening for sounds of movement. It had been several years since she had been inside these living quarters. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were all one room, with two small bedrooms branching off of it, as well as a bath. Everything was neat and orderly, almost impersonal. Then Diana noticed a pair of trophies sitting on a shelf. Curious, she walked over. They were marksmanship trophies with Guy’s name inscribed on the gold plate.
A wooden rifle rack was on the wall above them, empty.

A bedroom door opened and Diana turned. Holt stared at her, halted in the act of closing the door. Diana, too, was motionless, her breath lodged in her throat, her heart skipping beats all over the place.

There was no doubt he had just stepped from the shower. His wet hair glistened darkly. His chest was bare, a sheen of moisture on the muscled flesh. Dark trousers emphasized the slimness of his hips and the width of his shoulders. Primitive and dangerous, there was a funny curling in the pit of her stomach.

His eyes made a slow, insolent sweep of her, twin tongues of silver lightning licking over the straining swell of her breasts against the white fabric and the draping folds of her skirt at the hips. Her senses reeled under the sensual impact of his look.

“Are you here to welcome me home?” His voice was taunting, derisive, and cynical.

“I ... I didn’t know you were back.” Damn! Why was she stammering like some silly teen-ager? He unnerved her, yes, but did she have to show it so plainly?

“I got back about twenty minutes ago.” He closed the bedroom door, continuing to face her, his feet slightly apart in a stance that suggested command.

“I was at the house. I didn’t hear you.”

The fan was on the kitchen counter behind Holt.
My God,
Diana thought,
I can smell him, the soap, the shaving cologne, the musky animal scent of him.
A suffusing heat enveloped her, heady like potent wine.

Holt glanced pointedly around the room. “Are you making an inspection tour of the premises?”

“I am riding into town with Guy. I was supposed to meet him in an hour.”

Suddenly the temperature in the room seemed to drop below the freezing point. His features became encased in a bronze mask that was aloof and forbidding. The silent messages that had been disturbing her were broken off.

“What are you doing here?” Holt asked in a cold, flat voice.

Confused, Diana thought the reason for her presence was obvious, but she explained, anyway. “I didn’t see Guy out in the yard. He had said something about cleaning up, so I came here.”

“He isn’t here.”

“Obviously—”

“I mean,” Holt interrupted her laughingly defensive reply, his manner grim and snapping, “he doesn’t live here anymore!”

Diana was too startled by his announcement to respond immediately. “Where . . .? Why . . .?” She stammered out of her stunned silence.

“Do you really think he’d live under the same roof with me, considering how much he hates my guts?” he hurled with the lashing force of a whip.

Diana recoiled under the sting. “I didn’t think. When—” She couldn’t get the rest of the question out.

“He slept in the barn the night we got back. The next day he cleaned out that old trailer and moved his things into it. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.” Holt was sarcastic. “With the seclusion and privacy of the trailer, he could have entertained you for a couple of hours in the evening.”

“I have barely seen Guy since we came back, and spoken to him even less!” she flared.

“You always were easily bored with him,” he said with disgust.

“Do you think I don’t know how I treated him in the past? Do you think I’m not sorry now?” Her protest came in a passionate rush for understanding.

“Are you trying to make up for it? Is that what you’re saying?” Holt challenged. Then he immediately backed off, muttering, “What the hell does it matter? You’ve taken him out of my reach, Diana. There isn’t anything I can do to stop you. He’s yours ... to play with or destroy.” He turned away.

“I don’t want him.” She stopped, staring at the faint, crisscrossing scars on his back. Her forefingers
remembered the ridges they had felt when they had caressed his flesh. Her memory was jogged to that long-ago summer when she had first seen them, and Diana repeated the question she had asked then: “Those scars on your back—how did you get them?”

She watched the constricting of his muscles as Holt stiffened at her question. With rigid strides, he walked to the kitchen counter and removed a glass from the cupboard.

“Go find Guy.” He deliberately ignored her question.

Holding the glass under the faucet, he turned on the cold-water tap. Drawn by an irrepressible urge, Diana followed him. A step behind him, she stopped, her attention riveted on the pale golden marks on his otherwise tanned skin.

“Did . . . someone whip you?” she murmured. Her hand reached out to trace the fading white lines. “Why?”

At the touch of her fingers, the glass crashed to the sink as Holt pivoted, grabbing her hand in a vise-like grip, crushing together the slender bones of her fingers. A deadly fury blazed in his eyes.

Her head was tipped back, the waving curtain of raven-black hair swinging free of her neck. In an effort to ease the pain of his bone-crushing hold, Diana swayed closer to him. She could feel his solidly muscled thighs through the folds of her skirt. The physical contact suddenly drove out all her fear. Her eyes, the darkly brilliant blue of a sapphire, smoldered with the ache she felt, the longing to know again his possession.

Her wants were unmistakable. She felt Holt catch at his breath and saw his gaze narrow on her lips, moist and enticing. The pressure of his grip eased slightly as his other hand moved to her shoulder. The instinctive knowledge throbbed through her that in another second she would be crushed in his arms.

“Diana?” Outside, Guy’s questioning voice called her name.

As swiftly as the moment of desire had come, it fled. Part of her wanted to press her body closer to Holt’s, make him aware how well her curved shape molded itself to the male contours of his and make him forget that Guy was outside looking for her. If she had felt the smallest chance of success, Diana would have abandoned her pride and self-respect, become as wanton and bold as any creature in love. But Holt was already rejecting her initial, hesitant advance, forcefully and angrily pushing her away from him while winter eyes froze her with contempt.

Not a word was said. Her gaze finally fell under the force of his. Diana turned and walked calmly to the screen door and pushed it open. A smile automatically curved her mouth as Guy turned at the sound.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Diana said in a surprisingly steady voice.

Guy glanced at the closing screen door. Did he know Holt was back? Diana wondered. No sound of movement came from inside. His hand reached to take her arm and lead her toward the ranch pickup parked close by.

“I don’t live there anymore,” Guy said. “I moved out.”

“You didn’t say anything to me.” Diana feigned ignorance, masking it in a statement of half-truth.

“I’m sleeping in that old trailer over by the gas tanks.” He opened the door for her and gave her a hand into the cab. “It isn’t much.” He looked at her and Diana realized he had never mastered the art of hiding or controlling his feelings. “It needs a woman’s touch, Diana.”

She could have cried at the ardent appeal, but she was much more adept at controlling her reactions. “Not mine,” she said brightly. “I’ve had my fill of the ‘happy homemaker’ role for a while. Someone else will have to fix it into a cozy love nest for you.” Diana smiled, trying to ease the sting she knew her joking words had caused.

“Funny.” His mouth twisted in a pained smile. “I don’t feel like looking for anybody else.”

Diana dropped her mask to plead. “I don’t want you to love me, Guy. I don’t want to hurt you.”