White Christmas: Woman Hater / The Humbug Man. Diana Palmer
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had a feeling he wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone but her. It was the best kind of compliment. She smiled and shook her head when he offered to let her ride with him after he’d painstakingly mounted the horse and was sitting regally on its back.
“It wouldn’t do your leg much good,” she reminded him. “I’ll just walk alongside and look up at you adoringly, if you don’t mind.”
“That’ll be the day,” he mused.
She looked up. “What happened to your leg?” she asked softly.
“Bone damage and torn ligaments. I was pinned in the car when she wrecked it,” he said simply. “The surgeons repaired it as best they could, but there were complications. I’ll always limp. And when I overdo, I’ll always hurt.” He glanced at her. “I had a choice between limping or giving up the leg. I came in with a matched set and I intend to go out the same way.”
She pursed her lips, feeling mischievous, and almost asked an outrageous question. Then she blushed wildly and turned away.
He guessed the question and burst out laughing. “No,” he murmured. “It doesn’t cramp my style in bed.”
She gasped, glaring at him. “I never—”
“You might as well have written it in twelve-inch letters on canvas,” he retorted.
Her mouth opened and then closed while she thought up searing retorts, none of which came to mind. Later, she’d think up hundreds, she was sure. But the thought of him in bed with another woman made her feel jealous and angry. And it showed.
He stopped, fingering the reins in one lean hand and waited for her to look up at him. His dark eyes, shadowy under the wide brim of his hat, watched her. “I’ll qualify that,” he said after a long exchange of eyes. “I don’t think it will cramp my style. I haven’t been with a woman since it happened.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. It was such an intimate thing to know about him, and she struggled to think of a suitable reply.
“That wasn’t fair, was it?” he asked with a slow smile. “And I can’t tell you for the life of me why I wanted you to know that. But I did. We’d better get home. It’s getting dark.”
She lowered her eyes to the trail that led back to the house. His revelation shouldn’t have mattered to her, but it did. She smiled softly to herself, unaware that he saw the smile, and understood it.
He lit a cigarette and rode along beside her with a carefully hidden smug expression while he smoked it. “How about dinner tomorrow night? I’ll drive you into Butte.”
She felt chills to the tips of her toes and a wild excitement that was new, like the sudden tenderness between herself and Winthrop. “If Gerald doesn’t need me, I’d love to,” she said.
He hesitated. He looked down at her curiously, but he didn’t speak. “Okay.”
She wondered about the reason for his withdrawn expression and the odd silence the rest of the way to the house. That was good, because it kept her from thinking about the way he’d kissed her. She’d never felt more threatened in her life, and the worst of it was that she wasn’t even afraid of what might happen between them.
He glanced at her just once, shocked by the surge of jealousy he felt at her remark about Gerald. It was that, too. Jealousy. He was afraid that there was something between this woman and his brother, and his own sense of honor and family wouldn’t allow him to trespass on Gerald’s territory. He wanted her to be heart-whole. He wanted that desperately. Could she have kissed him that way and still belong to Gerald? Surely not!
He pulled his emotions up short. It wouldn’t do to give in to this unexpected yen for her. He was playing with fire, and God forbid he should get burned a second time.
Nicole, unaware of his thoughts, was having some difficulties of her own trying to figure out his taciturn somberness after the new and delicate camaraderie between them. She guessed, rightly, that he was holding back out of apprehension, and she even understood. But she didn’t want him to leave her alone. She was beginning to love him, and it was only when she admitted it that she realized how desperately she wanted him.
Winthrop wasn’t at the supper table. Nicole didn’t really expect him to be, because it was early November now, and according to Gerald, the boss was getting his management program in gear for winter. That included culling cattle; weaning, preconditioning and delivering calves; making the initial selection of replacement cattle and starting them on feed; and all the veterinarian-related chores that that entailed. With the sheer immensity of the cow-calf operation, it was a full-time job for the boss to keep up with what was going on. Mike, the foreman, relieved Winthrop of a lot of headaches, but even with a firm of accountants to do the paperwork, Winthrop still had to make the big decisions. No wonder he was putting in so many late hours, Nicole thought after Gerald had explained his absence.
Later that evening, Gerald had some correspondence for her. They went into the study to work. The room had Winthrop’s personality stamped all over it. There was a bear’s head on the wall, and burgundy leather furniture. The rugs were Indian, and the huge stone fireplace was made of native rock in comparable colors. The desk was oak, the chairs man-size and comfortable. There was a copper kettle on the hearth, and it reminded Nicole of the huge copper mining operation she’d seen as they came through Butte on the day they’d arrived. On the wall was a portrait of a man in buckskin, and she wondered if that was the French trader who was an ancestor of the Christophers.
“By the way, Sadie’s invited us for dinner Friday night,” Gerald said as he sorted out his mail, which had been forwarded from Chicago that afternoon. “Is that convenient for you?”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I look forward to meeting her again.” She sat poised with her steno pad on her lap. “Uh, Winthrop asked if I’d go into Butte with him tomorrow night. To a restaurant.”
Gerald pursed his lips and smiled mischievously. “I see,” he mused. “So Winthrop’s out to take my girl away from me, is he? I’m not sure if I like that.”
It was an old joke between them, dating from her first six months as his secretary when two of the vice presidents had tried to steal her out from under his nose. She laughed and he was smiling. But the man out in the hall, overhearing him, didn’t see that. Winthrop was within reach of the doorknob, but his lean hand faltered.
“He’s not likely to try to take me away from you, so you can stop worrying,” she said, tongue in cheek. “Anyway, he couldn’t do it, you’re quite unmatchable. Are you reassured?”
“I am.” Gerald sighed theatrically, his brown eyes playful. He wasn’t at all bad-looking. He just seemed very young beside his brother. “What a frightening thought!” he added with a mock shudder. “That I could lose you to my own brother. But Winthrop is too much a gentleman to steal from people, so I can relax. Now, suppose we get down to work?”
Winthrop turned and walked out the front door. His footsteps were so soft, and the closing of the door so quiet, that the occupants of the study didn’t hear him.
He hadn’t expected Nicole to be like that. He’d been sure that her ardor was real, that she’d felt the same tenderness he had. And here she was telling Gerald that there was no chance Winthrop could turn her head. He felt sick to his stomach and furiously angry. He couldn’t bear the thought of being near her anymore, not after hearing her conversation with Gerald. What a close call, but at least he’d been spared. His face hardened as he began to work out what he was going to do. Thank God, she’d never know just how close she’d come to getting under his skin.
There was no sign