Falcon's Lair. Sara Orwig
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himself he was being idiotic. She was a total stranger who was probably on her way to meet her lover. Ben reminded himself that she didn’t mean anything to him.
He already knew there was no wedding ring on her finger. Annoyed with himself, he shifted his weight. He was having an acute uncustomary reaction to this stranger.
“Maybe I feel like I saved you, so now I should protect you,” he said softly, inhaling the sweet lilac scent that lingered about her.
Ben stood and crossed to the bathroom to look at himself in a full-length mirror. His shoulder was dark with a bruise, a lump swelling across his back. He had a cut on his temple, which he hadn’t felt. He pushed back his thick black hair, and examined the dark skin of his face—a heritage from the long-ago Comanche blood. He stripped away the T-shirt, unbuckled his belt and peeled his jeans from narrow hips, muscles rippling as he pulled off mud-spattered boots. Tossing aside his briefs, he stepped beneath a hot shower and winced when the water hit his injured shoulder.
In minutes when he was dry, dressed in a clean pair of jeans and socks, he walked back to the bed to look down at her.
She stirred, moaned and her eyes flew open. Caught in their green depths, Ben felt an electric jolt as he gazed at her. Her straight reddish brown brows drew together and she sat up, gasping with pain. Her eyes widened and a look of terror filled them.
“I have to go—” she gasped, pushing away covers. “I have to find him.”
Barely hearing her words, Ben sat down beside her and leaned gently against her shoulders, catching her fluttering hands in his. “Shh. You’ve been in a car wreck, and we’re in the storm of the year. You’re safe here.”
“No! I have to go now!” Her agitation increased.
“You’re not going out in this storm. And you can’t stand, either. Your ankle is hurt,” he said forcefully. Holding her, feeling her warm, delicate shoulders beneath his hands, Ben wondered when she would discover she was only half-dressed.
“No! I have to—” she cried, pushing against him, trying to sit up and crying out. She grabbed her side. “Oh!”
“You’re hurt,” he said, his broad chest blocking her. He didn’t want to frighten her or make her think his intentions were bad. For a moment he had to laugh at himself. Since when had he become so damned trustworthy with a beautiful woman? His cynical thought disappeared as he tried to struggle with her without hurting her.
She pushed against him and twisted away suddenly, lunging across the bed. He reached to catch her, scrambling over the bed as she swung her feet down.
“My clothes!” she gasped, giving him an angry look when she stepped off the bed. When she put her weight on her foot, a cry tore from her and she would have fallen, but he caught her, his arm going behind her shoulders, the other arm beneath her warm thighs. He swung her up against his bare chest, leaning forward to place her on the bed again.
She struggled against him. “Be still,” he ordered, and green eyes stared at him defiantly, yet she became quiet.
“I took your slacks off because your leg is cut and bleeding. You can’t walk—”
“Have to go,” she murmured as he covered her and sat beside her, pushing hair away from her face. Sitting up, she waved her hands in a futile protest, determination in her eyes as she stared at him. “Have to find Ben Falcon now—”
Stunned, Ben felt a jolt. He shifted away from her as quickly as if he had discovered a rattler in his bed. His breath went out in a hiss and he stood, his brows becoming thunderclouds while his scowl deepened and all his protectiveness toward her changed to a churning rage.
Two
Ben stared at the woman as she looked around in uncertainty, and then her eyes closed and she lay back on the bed again.
Frowning, he placed his hands on his hips. “Dammit,” he said quietly, thinking how he had brought her here. He should have guessed, yet it had been almost four years since Weston had come after him or sent someone after him. Long enough that Ben thought his father had given up trying to get him home.
Ben wanted Weston’s woman out of his house and his life. For a few minutes, an image of Andrea danced in mind, and the terrible anger he had felt when he had discovered she had been picked by Weston as the perfect match. The first few years after buying the ranch, he’d had damn little time to have even a casual date, and after the stormy relationship of his parents, Ben had no inclination to rush into any lasting commitment, but the last couple of years he found the long, lonely winter nights making him think about going to town and seeking companionship. His gaze slid back to the woman.
Angered, he turned and walked to the window as he tried to gain control of his emotions. Snow swirled and fell against the glass, some sticking in frosty white blotches. Ben’s thoughts drifted back to his childhood, to the abusive father he had clashed with as far back as he could remember.
Weston set impossible demands and Ben was the oldest of two sons, never able to satisfy his father’s demands. Ben rebelled before he was ten years old and from that time on it was war between them, with Weston bullying, threatening, punishing, doing everything in his power to break Ben’s stubborn determination to live his own life. And he thought about Geoff, his younger brother, who had tried to please their father and live up to impossible demands until he’d been killed trying to win a speedboat race sponsored by Falcon Enterprises.
The last time Weston had come after him, Ben had spent six months in a Texas jail for assaulting the hired men sent to force him to go home. Within two hours after arrest, his father had appeared and offered to get him out immediately if he would go to work in the family company. But Ben had refused, preferring jail to life under his father’s impossible demands. He thought of all the people Weston had sent to bring him back—detectives, cops, strong-arm toughs, beautiful women.
Ben’s thoughts shifted and he turned to look at the woman. How much was she going to pay? Would her body be part of the bargain? Maybe it was because of her momentary vulnerability, but she didn’t look like the flashy, high-dollar call girls Weston had sent to lure him back when Ben had been in his twenties.
Now as he calmed, Ben’s brows drew together. She had looked right at him and said she had to get to Ben Falcon.
He frowned and moved back to the bed. She was determined to get to him, yet she hadn’t recognized him. His father would have coached her, briefed her and given her pictures.
“Dammit,” Ben said and leaned over her, sliding his hand over her head. He felt the lump on her head beneath her hair and realized he’d been so busy looking for broken bones and tending her cuts, he hadn’t felt for bumps on her head easily hidden by her riotous red hair. He glanced at the snow again and crossed the room to the phone to punch 911.
In minutes he had made arrangements for the medical chopper from Albuquerque to fly to his ranch and pick up the woman and get her to Emergency. Next he called his physician friend, Kyle Whittaker, to ask him if he would meet them at the hospital.
Dressed in a black sweater and jeans, Ben gathered up his keys, pushed his wallet into his hip pocket while he punched a number and told Zeb Diez, his foreman, what had happened and where he was going. “I’ll light up the grounds where the chopper lands. You turn the lights off when we’re gone.”
“Sure, boss.” Zeb’s deep voice sounded alert. “We’re going to have to get feed to the animals in this storm.”
“You know where the keys are to the Jeep if you need it. And check with Derek to see if they need any supplies,” Ben said, staring at the gray night sky and thinking about the boys’ ranch. In weather like this they wouldn’t be able to get supplies in and would rely on Ben or his men.
“I’ll check on them,” Zeb answered.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know when I’ll be back,” Ben promised, replacing the receiver and glancing at his