Whirlwind Page 17

  Appearing pleased by her question, he smiled. "No, I'm not and I do. I'm cooking tonight."

  Dayna smiled at his self-deprecating grin. She would have continued the banter but became intensely annoyed when she noticed Christy impatiently waiting for Brand to come down to the lower stands.

  Brand looked briefly over his shoulder in Christy's direction. A sardonic smile lifted the edges of his mouth as he looked back at Dayna. "My preferential treatment is limited to only one special woman."

  "For the moment," Dayna said dryly, drawing an amused laugh from Brand before he left.

  Dayna scanned the dinner crowd. Picnic benches had been brought out for the event, and a makeshift stage had been set up in front of a haystack. Campfires were ablaze around an old-time chuck-wagon, and the air was filled with the enticing aroma of the dinner being prepared by the ranch hands who were standing over a variety of black kettles.

  As she sat down next to Karen, Dayna saw Brand hunkered down beside an enormous cast-iron kettle hanging on a tripod of sticks over a fire. Her eyes danced with enjoyment at the sight of such a strong, virile man, a man whose life and occupation were so decisively male, stirring the steaming contents of the pot.

  People wandered around, conversing with the wranglers and waiting with anticipation for the sound of the large dinner bell.

  It seemed that before dinner could start, some ground rules had to be observed. Dayna listened in amusement as W.R. stood before the microphone on the makeshift stage and spoke.

  After greeting all the guests and making them welcome, he explained, "Now, just as they would do at an old-fashioned wrangler dinner, you've got to do your part, too, before you get the grub. Everyone get into a single line, starting where Hank is standing over there," he said, pointing a finger at Hank. "Get your tin plate and cup from him and then keep moving—first to the man with the most mouth-watering barbecued beef you've ever tasted, then on to the potatoes, the corn, the beans, the biscuits, and finally to yours truly for your peach." He smiled broadly. "Now there's to be no dilly-dallying. Just like in the old days, every man serving has his job and a special place on your plate to put the food he's serving. This is serious business, you know," he said with a feigned frown. "When those wranglers came in from being out all day on the range, they were mean critters—hungry and tired—and they wanted their vittles fast. Okay then, if everybody's ready—here goes." With a nod of his head to Charlie, the dinner bell was rung.

  The novice diners held back a little, watching as those familiar with the workings of the serving line went ahead. Just as W.R. had said, they were each handed a tin plate and cup and began moving along the line. Dayna overheard an elderly man behind her remark, "The efficiency here could put an army mess hall to shame."

  With remarkable speed the food was placed on each plate. As Dayna drew near Brand, she tilted her head to watch the serious expression on Brand's face as he carried out his job. When she stood before him, tin plate thrust forward to receive her share, he ladled beans on her plate, but a wink and a smile were added to her portion before she moved on.

  The man of the hour was W.R., biting his tongue and wrinkling his brow with intense concentration as he gently maneuvered a peach half onto each of the plates in the designated area between the biscuits and the ear of corn.

  After the meal, a country and western trio lent their twanging voices to various old and new western songs while in the distant hills coyotes howled their own nightly song. It was an evening Dayna would long remember as the guests were treated to what she considered the highlight of the evening— heartwarming performances by the ranch personnel: singing, guitar playing, a spoon-playing song by one of Charlie's assistant cooks, and other amateur talents.

  All night Dayna had been watching Brand and had seen his eyes fixed on her. She tried to keep her attention on the entertainment, but she was all too conscious of him. With a pretense at gaiety that amazed her, she put on a smiling face even when she saw Christy clinging to Brand's side. Although he continued with his chores and didn't encourage the woman, he also didn't fight her attentions.

  When the entertainment ended and the crowd began to disperse, Brand joined Dayna. His hand gently touched her shoulder, and his caressing blue eyes stared down at her. Without a word, Shelly and Martin squeezed closer together to give Brand room to lift his leg over the bench and slide in next to her.

  The faint scent of his after-shave lotion titillated Dayna's senses as his shoulder rubbed hers intimately and his thigh pressed against hers beneath the bench table. She was conscious of an overpowering force rising up in her while he chatted casually about the western dinner. But all the time his eyes were sending hers outrageously bold messages and his lips were smiling with unspoken words that had nothing to do with his conversation. "Did you enjoy tonight?"

  "Yes. It was fun. You have hidden talents."

  A low, amused chuckle answered her. "So have you," he said, with a devilish grin. "How about a moonlight walk?" He didn't wait for a reply. As soon as she was standing beside him, he slid an arm around her shoulders, nestling her close to the curve of his side. She wrapped her arm around the broad expanse of his back as they ambled over the flagstone walkway and down toward the pool.

  Gesturing at some small palm trees that formed an enormous umbrella for the chairs beneath their fronds, Brand drew her even closer. "Let's go down to the trees."

  When they reached their destination, he leaned against one of the palms and pulled her into the security of his arms. His hands pressed against her back, so that her body leaned suggestively against him. Dayna ached to stay close to him, hold him, and never have to say goodbye. She felt the hard, thudding beat of his heart against her breast as he gripped her fiercely to him. The warmth of his breath stirred against her temple, and his fingers gently stroked the small of her back as she looked up at the dark sky. "It's so beautiful."

  Brand answered distractedly, taking a deep breath and inhaling the fragrance of her light perfume, "Uh huh." His bland comment caught her attention and she drew back. "You're not even looking up."

  "I'm looking at what I'm interested in." Teasingly, he nibbled her ear. His voice was soft and provocative. "Would you like to see my etchings?"

  A delighted smile curved Dayna's lips at such a hackneyed line. "Etchings of what?"

  He pondered for a second, a smile deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes. "Which would you believe—etchings of horses or skyscrapers?"

  Dayna rolled her eyes upward in mock disbelief. "Neither."

  He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I'm wounded to the quick."

  "Well, are they pastels or oils?" she asked coyly.

  His eyes sparkled with amused pleasure. "Interested in culture," he asked, glancing at his watch, "at twelve-thirty in the morning?"

  Dayna brushed her lips across his cheek. "Any time is a good time to be educated," she said softly in his ear.

  Later, in Brand's room, they found a new dimension to their lovemaking, a fierceness and a hunger, as if they both sensed that the joy they'd known for the last few days would slowly slip from their grasp.

  Still wrapped in the rapture they had just shared, Dayna was filled with an unexplainable joy, a contented peace of mind. Unnoticed, tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. Brand lifted himself slightly from her as their moistness touched his cheek. "Did I hurt you?"

  Dayna shook her head, unable to say anything.

  "Are they sad tears?" he asked in a husky whisper. She shook her head again and he held her even more tightly to him. "I'm glad you decided to throw your sensible caution to the winds."

  She caressed the nape of his neck and his bare back. "I know—destiny," she finally said. "What makes you think I have?"

  Lying beside her, he frowned in puzzlement. "Haven't you?"

  "No, I've just learned to accept things more realistically."

  "You're serious, aren't you?" he asked, sitting up slightly and shoving a pillow behind his back. "W
hat do you mean by realistically?" he asked as Dayna slipped from the bed and began to dress.

  She shrugged, hoping she wouldn't weaken and succumb to the notions of love that were an inseparable part of her ideas about sex. "I told you, I don't romanticize relationships. What we've shared has been very wonderful, but it's also the result of a very primitive drive."

  "Why do you think that's all it is?"

  "Because it happened too fast. Your persistence won out, that's all."

  "I'm not solely responsible for what's happened. You're here because of your feelings. You've been falling in love with me since the moment we met. That's what you're afraid of facing, and you don't want to admit it."

  "No, I'm not. I know what I feel," she answered firmly, turning toward him as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  "Are you afraid of love?"

  "No, but I know it doesn't happen this quickly. It doesn't just hit people. What we're sharing has no lasting quality. There hasn't been enough time."

  His gaze clashed with hers. Dayna squared her shoulders, sure she was in control of her life and the outcome of their relationship. His features suddenly became gentle and his gaze much softer; Dayna felt some of her control slipping. Weakened just by his look, she sensed the need to make her point now, before he reached out and touched her. "It's easy to confuse purely physical attraction for love. But love is built on common interests and on truly knowing a person. Love can't happen in a matter of hours or days. It takes time."

  "It can happen in minutes," Brand said with complete certainty, as he reached out for her arm. He drew her, fully dressed by now, back down to the bed.

  He stared down at her, the weight of his body holding her firmly beneath him. Dayna knew she wasn't going to be able to leave yet. His mouth tantalized the side of her neck. "You are a very wise lady," he mumbled as his lips settled on the curve of her shoulder, "but you're wrong this time. You are in love with me."

  She closed her eyes, her hands sliding over his back. Doubts of her own wisdom began to stir. He never backed down. Was it possible he was right? Was the emotion they shared really love?

  His hand slipped beneath her skirt and gently stroked her leg with teasing slowness, sending renewed sensations through her as his strong fingers moved over her inner thigh. She tried to resist the emotions he was intent on arousing again and halfheartedly insisted, "Brand, I should leave."

  "You don't want to." He held her beneath him, his moist tongue sliding over her collarbone.

  The knock on the door was like being doused with a bucket of cold water. Dayna's skirt was hitched high on her thigh, and she was afraid that someone might enter without permission and find them in compromising intimacy.

  She scampered off the bed, pulling up the strap of her dress and smoothing down the skirt as Brand quickly slipped from the bed and grabbed a robe from the closet. Wild sensations were still coursing through her as she watched while he slid the robe over his bare body. Tying it, he moved toward the door.

  "I would have come sooner but…" Christy's sultry voice stopped as she caught sight of Dayna. "I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

  Christy's remark reverberated through the room, every word giving her a painful jolt. Dayna didn't look at Brand. Remembering Brand's brief conversation with Christy after the rodeo, Dayna was convinced he had made an arrangement with her instead.

  Self-disgust sent her flying past him, and though Brand's hand flashed out to stop her, like a female tigress she emitted a threatening growl, her green eyes smoldering with the pain and anger of humiliation.

  "Dayna, stop! Wait a minute."

  She brushed past Christy in the doorway, nearly knocking her over. Dayna didn't care. She stumbled in her haste as she ran up the hill toward the lodge. Using the pool area as a shortcut, she caught herself on some of the bushes, scratching her arm. She winced, but the pain was insignificant in comparison with the agonizing ache suffusing her whole body. Pressing her hand across her mouth to muffle sobs, she paused. The sound of men's voices speaking in hushed whispers made her linger in the bushes.

  She recognized one of the voices as Cutler's as he whispered, "Hurry up. We've only got ten minutes to meet them."

  Dayna sniffed back a sob, waiting until she heard a truck engine and the sound of the tires squealing before she came out of the shrubbery. Wryly, she wondered what party they were heading for. Or maybe, she thought with an ironic frown, Cutler forgot the beer for the poker game. Either way, it seemed to be a night of fun and games for everyone. Only some of the games weren't so funny.

  Chapter Ten

  Mercifully, Karen and Shelly were asleep when Dayna reached the room. She struggled against her pride and found herself shaking, every nerve in her body jumping. Closeting herself in the bathroom, she moved to the sink to wash her face. A madwoman stared back at her from the sink mirror. Her face was smudged, her hair in wild disarray, her clothes disheveled. She nearly burst into hysterical laughter at her reflection—she must have been insane to weaken and almost believe his claim of love. Fool! she mentally screamed.

  It seemed that hours passed before she calmed down. She showered and then slid into a thin batiste nightgown and brushed her hair. It was well past three in the morning before she fell asleep, only to reawaken during the remaining dark hours.

  Giving up all hope of any further sleep when she saw by her travel clock that it was five-thirty, she got up. Dawn was breaking as she quietly dressed.

  She left the room and walked softly through the long hall to the stairway. The lobby was empty and quiet. As she descended the stairs, she heard early-morning noises coming from the kitchen and headed in that direction.

  Charlie and two helpers were busy with preparations for breakfast; Charlie himself was rapidly beating a giant bowl of batter. He greeted her with a bright smile and offered to make her breakfast right then if she wanted it. Dayna refused the heavy waffles and ham he suggested. She knew they would have stuck in her throat. Last night had been a disaster, and she was still feeling its aftereffects, a heavy heart and a splitting headache.

  Charlie's voice penetrated her thoughts. "Missy Dayna?"

  Dayna's head snapped in his direction.

  "Coffee, Charlie. Would that be all right?"

  With hurried, short steps, he moved to the stove to get her a cup.

  Dayna sat in the kitchen for only a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries with Charlie while he worked. Then, pulling on her corduroy blazer, she walked slowly down to the stables. It was a beautiful time of day, with half the sky still gray as streaks of orange light started to break the horizon.

  Her decision to ride was the result of a need to feel the wind blowing through her hair, to feel some kind of freedom from the oppressive pain inside her.

  As she neared the stables, Bonnie appeared. Surprised to find him there so early, Dayna queried, "Don't you ever sleep?"

  "Could ask you the same," he said with a grin. "You're up mighty early. But then so are a lot of people around here. Brand's been in town since three this morning."

  Dayna couldn't stop herself—her curiosity got the better of her. "Why?"

  "We had quite a ruckus here a couple of hours ago. Do you remember that fellow Brand fired about two weeks ago?" Dayna didn't know him, but she remembered hearing some mention of a man Brand had had trouble with. "Caught him and John Cutler in the act of rustling about four this morning. Brand's been down at the sheriff's office ever since. They caught some buddies of theirs in another truck just this side of Douglas, driving a truckload of stolen cattle."

  Her thin brow arched in response to his words. So she had been right in her suspicions about Cutler. If Brand had listened to her he might have saved himself a lot of aggravation. She looked away in self-disgust, wishing she didn't care so much about him.

  Bonnie tipped his head to the side, eyeing her questioningly. She knew he was puzzled over her silence, but she couldn't concentrate on anything except that she had been right about Brand Renfre
w and the type of man he was right from the beginning. Last night had proved that. She wondered wryly if she had witnessed Cutler and his partner in crime in the act of leaving to commit their criminal act. There was no way of knowing for certain if she had.

  "You know, Brand never liked Cutler," Bonnie commented offhandedly. "But he gave him a fair chance. His judgment about people is usually pretty sound. And if you ask any of the ranch hands, they'll tell you he's fair and real straight with them." Dayna said nothing, thinking it was too bad Brand wasn't as honest with women. "Well," Bonnie said with exaggerated lightness, "so how come you're up so early?"

  Dayna gave a shrug. "I couldn't sleep."

  He grinned wryly. "Watch out. You might get into the habit of these early mornings. That's what happened to me. Got used to breaking camp by four in the morning on cattle drives. Can't sleep later now."

  Trying to gain greater control of the emotional turmoil inside her and hide the sadness she felt, she said with feigned lightheartedness, "I'm sure I'll slide right back into my lazy morning routine once I return home." Before Bonnie could make any further comment, she asked, "Could I have the bay, please? I want to go for a ride."

  Saying nothing more, Bonnie turned away to saddle and bridle the bay.

  Bringing the horse out to her, he sent a worried frown in her direction. "You be careful. It's awfully early to be out riding."

  "I will," Dayna answered, taking the reins from him.

  "I'm surprised such a little lady as yourself took to such a big horse," Bonnie commented.

  "He's gentle." She patted the horse.

  "Oh, that he is, but women don't usually like them this big."

  "Brand picked him out." Dayna remembered the day he had come from the stables leading the horse he'd chosen for her.

  "You look mighty sad, Dayna."

  Dayna smiled slightly. "Do you know that's the first time, Bonnie, you've called me by my name."

  "Well, you're such a slender, wispy-looking thing, I guess I kind of tagged you with 'little lady,' but that doesn't mean I don't know your name," he said in a voice that made Dayna look at him. "Especially with Brand saying it daily."