Amelia. Diana Palmer
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But she wasn’t. Her mind was whirling with new terrors. She didn’t want to go home with King. She didn’t want her father to return. She wanted to run away, fly away, escape, flee … !
“My dear, you look very strange,” Enid said, suddenly interrupting her thoughts. “Come along. We can wait for King on the porch. Perhaps the cool air will refresh you. Come with us, won’t you, Ted?”
“I’d be delighted, Mrs. Culhane. As I told Miss Howard, I should like very much to call on her when her father returns from his hunting trip.”
Enid stared at him warily. She knew of King’s antagonism for the man and her own husband’s distaste for him. On the other hand, she had no right to forbid Amelia to see anyone.
“I have told Mr. Simpson that it will have to wait until my father returns,” Amelia said quickly, sensing Enid’s discomfort. “My father is extremely strict about my callers.”
“I see. Then we must both adhere to her father’s wishes, Mr. Simpson,” Enid said with a pleasant smile. “I’m sure you understand that I am responsible for her welfare while her father is away.”
“I do understand,” Ted said with a slow smile.
Enid laughed. “Well, then.”
He escorted them onto the porch, where they talked idly until a disgruntled King returned with the surrey. Ted helped the women into the back of the conveyance after they had said their good-byes. King spoke not one word until they were back at the ranch house, having left Enid and Amelia to converse.
When he pulled the surrey up in front of the house, he shouted for one of his men. Amelia escaped out of the other side while he was assisting his mother to the ground. She was on the porch before he knew it.
“Go ahead, Amelia,” Enid told her. “I’ll be right along to unlock the door.”
“I’ll unlock it,” King said curtly.
He was beside Amelia in two long strides, but she abruptly moved back to where Enid was standing, avoiding any attempt at conversation with a panic that was almost tangible. She wouldn’t look at him, not even when he opened the door and stood holding it for the women.
Disregarding convention in her surge of fear, she dashed ahead of Enid into the house and, calling a muffled good night behind her, ran down the hall to her bedroom.
“My dear,” Enid said, turning to King, who was oddly pale and out of sorts. “Have you said something unpleasant to her?”
“Good night, Mother,” he said curtly.
He turned and went out, closing the door loudly behind him. He wandered out to the barn and supervised the cowboy who was unhitching the horse and bedding it down for the night. His presence was unnecessary, but he couldn’t face any more questions from his mother. He didn’t want to think about what he’d said to Amelia or remember the look on her face. Hurting her was indefensible. He hardly understood himself. He only knew that he’d never felt quite so low in his life.
* * *
Amelia was deliberately late getting up the next morning so that she wouldn’t have to see King. She didn’t escape Enid that easily, however. The older woman watched her with renewed interest, even while she carried on a casual conversation about the beautiful morning.
“What did King say to you last night, Amelia?” she asked abruptly.
The younger woman’s face flushed. She dropped her biscuit and had to scramble to get it back in her fingers. “He only emphasized his dislike of me,” she lied. It was impossible to tell his mother what had really been said. “I regret his hostility, but it isn’t unexpected, you know. Some people … simply can’t get along.”
Enid’s sharp eyes saw the telltale signs of sleeplessness. There had been more to it than that. She knew there had! Her gaze went to the slender arms in the long-sleeved blouse and held, shocked.
“Amelia, what has happened to your poor wrist?” she exclaimed at the bruise there.
The shocked gasp and attempt to hide the abrasion told her all she needed to know. “I saw the argument you had with my son and the way you moved away from him so suddenly. King did that, did he not?” Enid demanded hotly.
“I did what?” came a slow, rough voice from the doorway.
King lounged there in his working clothes, his chaps rustling as his long legs moved, bringing him into the room.
“Look at Amelia’s wrist,” Enid said shortly.
His expression changed. Amelia tried to hide it, but he went down on one knee beside her chair and captured her hand, gently but firmly turning her arm so that the deep purple of the bruise was visible.
His intake of breath was audible.
“I have very delicate skin,” Amelia muttered, pulling it away from him. This time he let go at once, rather than risk marking her again.
“How could you?” Enid asked with sadness in her eyes as she looked at her son.
“Indeed,” he said, his voice quiet and subdued. He looked at Amelia from his close vantage point, his silver eyes turbulent on her distressed face. “Forgive me, Miss Howard,” he said, without his usual self-possession. “My loss of temper was regrettable.”
She moved her chair back, away from him. He was like her father. He was brutal. She didn’t want to be near him, to have to look at him, to talk to him. She wanted him to go away.
Her withdrawal pricked his temper and made him inflexible. He got to his feet smoothly and glared down at her.
“Was there something you needed?” Enid asked pointedly.
“I came to ask Miss Howard if she’d like to see the flowers I mentioned to her the other day,” he replied tightly. “Obviously, she does not, if it means suffering my company.”
Amelia closed her eyes. Please go, she thought. Please go away. You remind me of him….
Enid got to her feet and took her son’s arm, almost dragging him out of the room.
“What the hell is the matter with her?” he demanded hotly, glaring at his mother. “Did you see? She acts as if I have leprosy!”
“You treat her as if she does,” she replied unflinchingly. “I wish Alan were here. He is gentle with her. Which is probably why the two of them are so compatible.”
He glowered down at her. “And I know nothing of tenderness.”
“That is so,” she agreed curtly. “You have hardened your heart since Alice died. The sort of woman you seek these days has no need of tenderness. Why do you not take your precious Miss Valverde to see the flowers, King?”
“She has no interest in such things.”
“Only in the money that pays for the land on which they grow,” his mother said with faint venom. “Go and tend to your business. Amelia wants no part of you. Nor can I blame her. Surely her father is enough of a trial. It is no surprise to me that her life has been singularly lacking in male suitors. Probably she will live and die a maid for want of a little kindness from anyone!”
She turned and left her son standing there.
He didn’t move for a long moment. That bruise on Amelia’s arm made him feel like the lowest sort of desperado. Only a coward used brute force against a woman. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. His emotions, always under impeccable control, had loosed the chain last night in the grip of the most insane desire he’d ever known. His hunger for Amelia had made him cruel. Now he felt guilty, but he had no idea what he was going to do about it.
Damn women, he muttered under his breath. Damn it all! He stomped down the hall and out the front door, banging the screen door behind him. Disguising his pain in bad temper, he went out to supervise the branding of the new calves.