Rawhide and Lace. Diana Palmer
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she left Staghorn whole again, no matter what it took. He was going to give her life back to her, regardless of the cost. He was going to make her well enough to walk away from him.
And he hadn’t realized until that moment that it was going to hurt like hell.
* * *
The plane was a big twin-engine Cessna, a pretty bird built for comfort and speed. There was more than enough room for Erin to sit or stretch out in the passenger space, but she wanted to see where she was going.
“Could I sit up front with you?” she asked.
It was the first bit of enthusiasm she’d shown since he’d found her at the apartment. “Of course,” he replied. He ushered her into the seat beside his and helped her with the seat belt and the earphones.
She watched, fascinated, as he readied the big plane for takeoff and called the tower for permission to taxi. She’d never flown in his private plane before, although Bruce had invited her once. Ty had objected at the time, finding some reason why she couldn’t go with them. He’d never wanted her along. He’d never wanted her near him at all.
He flew with a minimum of conversation, intent on the controls and instrument readings. He asked her once if she was comfortable enough, and that was the only thing he said all the way back to Staghorn.
The ranch was just as Erin remembered it—big and sprawling and like a small town unto itself. The house was a creamy yellow Spanish stucco with a red roof, graceful arches and cacti landscaping all around it. Nearby were the ultramodern stables and corrals and an embryo transplant center second to none in the area. Ty’s genius for keeping up with new techniques, his willingness to entertain new methods of production, were responsible for the ranch’s amazing climb from a small holding to an empire. It wasn’t really surprising that he was so good with figures, though. He was geared to business, to making money. He was good at it because it was his life. He enjoyed the challenge of business in ways he’d never been able to enjoy anything else. Especially personal relationships.
Erin was fascinated by how little the ranch had changed since she’d seen it last. In her world, people came and went. But in Ty’s there was consistency. Security. At Staghorn, very little changed. The household staff, of course, was the same. Conchita and her husband, José, were still looking after the señor, keeping everything in exquisite order both inside and out. They were middle-aged, and their parents had worked for el grande señor, Ty’s father, Norman.
Conchita was tall and elegant, very thin, with snapping dark eyes that held the most mischievous twinkle despite the gray that salted her thick black hair. José was just her height, with the same elegant darkness, but his hair had already gone silver. Rumor had it that Señor Norman himself had turned it silver with his temper. José was unfailingly good-natured, and such a good hand with horses that Ty frequently let him work with the horse wrangler.
The house had two stories, but it was on the ground floor that Erin’s room was located. Only two doors away from Ty’s. That was vaguely disquieting, but Erin was sure that he’d only put her on the ground floor because of her hip.
“If you need anything, there’s a pull rope by the bed.” Ty showed it to her. “Conchita will hear you, night or day. Or I will.”
She sat down gingerly in a wing chair by the lacy curtains of the window and closed her eyes with a sigh. “Thank you.”
He didn’t leave. He perched himself on the spotless white coverlet of the bed and stared at her for a long moment.
“You’re not well,” he said at last.
“You try going through two major surgeries in six months and see how well you are,” she returned without opening her eyes.
“I want you to see my family doctor. Let him prescribe some exercises for that hip.”
Her eyes opened, accusing. “Now look here. It’s my hip, and my life, and I’ll decide—”
“Not while you’re on Staghorn, you won’t.” He stood up. “Your color isn’t good. I want you seen to.”
“I’m not your responsibility….”
Arguing did no good. He simply ignored whatever she said. “I’ll make an appointment for you,” he said, studying her. “Maybe he can give you some vitamins, too. You’re awfully damned thin.”
“Ty…”
“Lie down and rest for a while. I’ll have Conchita make you some hot chocolate. That should warm you up and put you to sleep as well. The thermostat’s over here, if it gets too cold for you.” He indicated the dial on the wall near the door.
“Will you stop ordering me around!” she burst out, exasperated.
He studied her face, seeing the sudden color in it, the missing vitality. “That’s better.” He nodded. “Now you look halfway human again.”
Her eyes sparked at him. “I don’t know why I came here!”
“Sure you do. You’ve saving my people from bankruptcy.” He opened the door. “Ring if you want anything.”
“I want…” She lowered her voice. “I’d like to go and see Bruce’s grave.”
His face didn’t change, but it seemed almost to soften. “I’ll take you out there later. When you’ve had time to rest.”
She studied his face, musing that nothing ever showed on that hard countenance. If he had emotions, they were deeply hidden.
“Do you miss him?” she asked curiously.
He turned. “I’ll have José bring your suitcase in later.”
He closed the door behind him. Yes, he thought bitterly as he moved off down the hall. He missed his brother. But he missed what he’d lost even more: he missed the life he could have had with Erin. Christmas was only a month away, and he was tormented by images of how he might have been celebrating it if Bruce hadn’t poisoned his mind. It seemed such a short time ago that Erin had come running toward him, laughing, her black hair like silk around an elfin face. And he’d melted inside just at the sight of her, gone breathless like a boy with his first real date. It still felt like that, despite her scars, her limp. In his heart, he carried a portrait of her that would withstand all the long, aging years, that would leave her young and unscarred for as long as he lived. Erin. How beautiful life might have been, if only…
He made a rough sound in his throat and went quickly out the front door.
* * *
Bruce was buried in a quiet country cemetery just ten minutes’ drive from Staghorn. Erin stood over his grave while Ty sat in his big Lincoln smoking a cigarette and watching her.
It was sad, Erin thought, the way Bruce had ended his life. He’d never seemed reckless. At least not until he’d started dating her. Once she’d realized that he was expecting more than she could give, she’d eased away from him. She hadn’t known how competitive he was with Ty, or that he’d only been using her as a tool of revenge against the elder brother who dominated him. She’d been his crowning glory, his mark of achievement. Look, he’d said without words, showing her proudly to Ty, look what a beauty I brought home. And she’s all mine.
She smiled wistfully. She’d been blissfully unaware of the fact that Ty’s father and mother had separated years ago and that each had taken one of the boys. Norman Wade had raised Ty, without the weakness of love to make him vulnerable. Ty’s mother had raised Bruce, making sure that he was protected from life. The outcome in both cases had been predictable—but not to the parents.
She glanced at the other graves in the plot where Bruce was buried. His parents were there. Norman and Camilla Harding Wade. Side by side in death, as they’d been unable to remain in life. Oddly enough, despite all their difference, they’d shared a deep and lasting love. Neither of them had ever dated after their separation. And it was the last request of each that they be buried together. Erin