Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth: Hawk's Way: Garth / Hawk's Way: Faron. Joan Johnston
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would be difficult to say which of the two lovers was more shocked to see the other. It was equally apparent that neither of them was willing to do or say anything in front of Madelyn that would upset the old woman.
“Good evening, Mr. Whitelaw,” Belinda said, extending her hand. Her heart was pounding, and she felt as though she were going to faint. When the Cowboy took her hand, he held it longer than he should. His mouth had formed into a smile, but his gray-green eyes looked wintry.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mrs. Prescott. Please, call me Faron. If you don’t mind, I’ll call you…Belinda.”
Faron’s anger had returned with a vengeance. Here stood a woman he had hated sight unseen—but with whom he had just experienced an incredibly passionate assignation. He wanted to ask her why she had made love to him when her husband—his father—was barely cold in the ground. But his lips clamped tight on the question. What they had done was awful enough. He had no intention of embarrassing his grandmother with revelations that would have to be distasteful to her.
Beyond being angry, Faron was hurt. His stepmother had made a fool of him. He had called The Castle from Casper hours ago, so she must have known he was coming. Which meant she also must have known who he was when she had made love with him. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to give him her name! How could she have done such a thing?
But despite being angry and hurt, he was also aroused. The memory of what had happened between them was still fresh, like a green wound that ached when prodded. Even icily distant, she was still his Princess. And he wanted her as much now as he ever had.
Tension lay thick in the air. A powerful current sparked between them, threatening a shock to the first who broke it.
“Come along, children,” Madelyn said at last. She led the way to the dining room, which was as richly furnished as the rest of the house. The pine trestle table was at least fifteen feet long. Three places had been set at one end with fine china and silver.
Faron held Madelyn’s chair as she sat at the head of the table. Then he went around to help Belinda. Her stomach clenched when Faron leaned over to whisper in her ear and trailed his hand across her bare shoulder. When he spoke, it was his anger she heard.
“It didn’t take you long to find some young stud to service you,” he hissed. “Did I measure up to my father?”
Belinda’s face bleached white.
“Are you feeling all right, my dear?” Madelyn asked.
“I’m a little tired,” Belinda said. “I had a long ride this afternoon.” She raised her eyes to meet Faron’s and realized the second meaning that could be given to her words. His lips lifted in a slight smirk that made her feel physically ill.
Belinda wanted to tell him she was sorry. But she wasn’t sorry. What had happened between them had been beautiful. What she really wanted was the chance to explain why she had needed what he had offered. She had been so very vulnerable. It had been so wonderful to allow herself the fantasy of loving and being loved.
Now Belinda was sure Faron Whitelaw had entirely the wrong idea about what kind of woman she was. She could feel his attraction to her, but it was laced with harsher, harder feelings. The fierce look on his face gave ample evidence that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. And that he was unlikely to forgive or forget what she had done.
When Belinda realized the road her thoughts had taken she was alarmed. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Wayne? Here she was ready to make the same mistakes again! Why should she care what her stepson thought of her? She would never give another man the sort of emotional, physical and economic hold over her that Wayne had possessed.
She ought to show Faron the door. If it had only been herself involved in the catastrophe that threatened, she would have. But there was Madelyn to think of. So she clamped her back teeth together and held her tongue.
Once Faron was seated, an older woman wearing a voluminous white apron began serving dinner. She passed out plates already laden with pork chops, mashed potatoes and green beans. The servant had hair dyed a shocking red and fingernails painted an equally vivid color. When she left the room Madelyn said, “Rue has been with the family forever. Belinda and I couldn’t manage without her.”
To Faron it was further proof that Belinda Prescott was the pampered Princess he had labeled her. His stepmother sat across from him looking cool and elegant and totally in control. Meanwhile, his body was hard and throbbing from the small caress of her shoulders he had allowed himself. But he would be damned if he’d touch her again anytime soon.
As he ate his dinner, Faron tried to revive the feelings of dislike he had felt toward Belinda Prescott for forcing him to confront his true paternity. But it was one thing to hate a woman you envisioned as an interfering rich bitch, and quite another to hate a woman with whom you’ve just shared the most poignant physical encounter of your life.
To compound his confusion, the woman he found so attractive was his stepmother. He had been determined not to take anything handed down to him from Wayne Prescott. Now he found there was one thing he wanted very much: his father’s widow.
“Did Belinda write you about the terms of the will?”
Madelyn’s question jerked Faron from his thoughts. “What?”
“The will. Did Belinda tell you the terms of Wayne’s will?”
Faron’s gaze swung back around the table to spear Belinda. “No, Maddy, she didn’t. She did seem in an all-fired hurry for me to get here.”
“Why don’t you tell Faron the problem, Belinda,” Madelyn said.
“If you came here expecting to inherit wealth beyond your dreams, you’re going to be disappointed,” Belinda began.
Faron’s brows arched. “I heard my father was a millionaire.”
“Was is the correct word,” Belinda said. “King’s Castle, including the land and The Castle on it, is mortgaged to the hilt. The mineral leases only provide enough income to cover the taxes, and the worsening economy has left the ranch only marginally profitable.”
“So sell the ranch and move into town,” Faron said.
“It isn’t that simple.”
“Why not?” Faron asked.
“If we could sell the property piecemeal, there might be some hope of making a profit and avoiding foreclosure. But Wayne’s will stipulates that King’s Castle has to be sold all in one piece. Otherwise it gets donated to charity.
“We simply haven’t been able to find a buyer willing to take the whole thing—thousands of acres of land, dozens of buildings, farm equipment, the stock, the house—in short, someone willing to buy the losing aspects of the ranch along with the profitable ones,” Belinda explained. “I was hoping you might have some ideas about improvements that would make the ranch attractive to a single corporate buyer.”
Faron had wondered why his stepmother had gone to so much trouble to have him included in his father’s will. Now he had his answer. She needed someone with the right motivation—a promise of half the proceeds—to spend the time and energy putting King’s Castle back on its feet so she could make a big killing when it was sold!
His sense of self-preservation warned him to get right back in his truck and go home to Texas. He decided to ask a few more questions first.
“How much money do you have to work with?”
“You mean cash?” Belinda asked. When Faron nodded she said, “There’s just enough in the bank for food for us and the stock over the summer.”
“Surely there are some jewels or furs you can liquidate,” Faron said.
“Oh, dear, no,” Madelyn said. “Wayne sold all those things years ago.”
“Have you tried cutting the staff for the house and the number of cowboys on the payroll.”