Heather's Song. Diana Palmer
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were shocking her, so she turned her attention out the window and watched for the familiar white fences that marked the outlying boundaries of Big Spur.
Minutes later, the house came into view below, surrounded by tall pecan and oak trees. It was brick, its architecture reminiscent of an English manor house. A long driveway circled in front of the entrance, lined with dogwoods that bloomed in white profusion each spring and a myriad of flowering shrubs. In her mind’s eye, Heather could see the interior of the towering mansion, the main reception rooms all opening off the center hall with its delightful winding staircase and massive crystal chandelier. The interior rooms were spacious, and the den where Cole did his paperwork had a huge stone fireplace and a very striking Belgian area rug done in deep wine. There was a three-car garage, a tennis court, a swimming pool and a patio with masses of rose bushes. It was like something out of a storybook, or the Old South—which wasn’t at all surprising, since the Shaws had emigrated to East Texas from Georgia. Heather’s great-grandfather had built the house, back in the days of the great cattle drives, and it had had its share of famous and infamous guests. In fact, Branntville itself was located on the old Chisholm Trail, a fact that had always excited Heather as a child.
The house was technically Emma’s now, willed to her by Heather’s late father. Heather never begrudged her stepmother that bequeathal. Emma had loved her stepdaughter like her own child, and that love had been returned full measure. It hurt to remember that Heather’s own mother had been a rather cool person, all elegance and high fashion and very little emotion.
They were coming down now, Cole’s brown hands firm and confident on the controls as he eased the Cessna onto the family airstrip, nestled in the midst of thousands of acres of prime cattle land. Cole and her father had built the ranch up slowly over the years, investing their initially modest profits in new stock to improve their herd. Now, Cole had one of the finest ranches in Texas, a ranch that was famous for its blooded stock and champion bulls. Heather felt a sense of pride in her stepbrother. He had a keen business head, and he radiated power. He could make or break a politician in this part of the state, and he was an avid conservationist.
The plane touched down lightly on the runway and Cole taxied it to a stop near the silver side of the hangar and cut the engine. “Home,” he told her with a flash of pride in his silver eyes.
She smiled at him, the emotion she felt evident in her eyes, in the parting of her soft mouth. His gaze whipped down to her pink lips with a suddenness that was devastating in its effect on her pulse. She almost gasped at the newness of the look, and the surprise was in her eyes when his gaze shot back up to meet hers.
She turned quickly and tried to open the door, fumbling with it nervously.
“Something wrong, honey?” Cole asked in a strange tone. He leaned across her, his hard-muscled arm pressing against her breasts for an instant, his warm breath in her hair as he opened the door.
She scrambled out as if mad dogs were chasing her, and she thought she heard soft, amused laughter behind her as she reached the pavement.
One of the ranch hands had driven down to get them in the station wagon, and Heather was careful to get in the backseat before Cole could herd her into the front with him. Nothing showed on that impassive face, but she had the strangest feeling that he was amused by her. She could still see that unfamiliar look in his eyes, the darkness making them slate gray, the totally adult glitter something she’d never experienced. Cole had never treated her as anything except his younger sister. But there was nothing remotely filial about that look, and she remembered without wanting to that there was no blood relationship to protect her from Cole. Her innocence would be no match for his obvious experience, and if he could upset her like this just by looking at her, Heaven only knew what would happen if he touched her….
That thought sent a burst of wild excitement singing through her slender young body, and her face blushed as dusky as an autumn sunset. She kept her eyes down so that Cole wouldn’t notice—even though he was talking business with the ranch hand.
She’d never considered Cole in this light before. It was a little frightening. She’d watched him charm women with a sense of pride, feeling safe because she was his stepsister. She’d always been shielded from his devastating masculinity. But now she’d stepped out from behind that shield, and she was vulnerable for the first time. She felt like a fawn taking its first steps into a meadow, wondering what dangers lay beyond the quiet, dark glade.
She bit her lower lip hard. She wanted to crawl back into her cocoon and forget what she’d been thinking. Cole was far too dangerous for a novice.
They were driving near the river now, and Heather remembered almost drowning there the first summer Cole and Emma lived at Big Spur. Cole had plucked her out of the water, a shivering little thirteen-year-old with big blue eyes. She’d been his possession since that day, and he’d treated her like one. He’d always had a hand in the major decisions of her life. Her parties, her friends, her travels had all been dictated by Cole, even before her father’s death. Her education at an exclusive Swiss girls’ school—which she’d hated—had been his idea, too. But when it came to singing, she’d managed to get her own way. Emma had stood by her, especially after a well-known promoter named Pete Howell had raved about her talent. Her first appearance at a local nightclub had led to several other offers, and engagement after engagement followed until the big break finally came—the two-week engagement, that she’d just been starting the night of the accident.
“…otherwise, it’s been going smoothly,” the ranch hand was saying. “Bill said to tell you he sure was sorry he didn’t get word to you about Miss Shaw. He got busy….”
“Which is no damned excuse at all,” Cole shot back, his silver eyes blazing. “By God, I’ll tear a strip off him for that!”
His hard, chiseled mouth made a thin line, and Heather was glad she couldn’t see his eyes from the backseat. There was a white-hot anger in his otherwise controlled voice. But then, everything about Cole was controlled. Mr. Cool, she used to call him behind his back. No matter how she tried, she never could rattle him. Her worst tempers only amused him. She’d worn herself out against the rock of his will without accomplishing anything. Her young adulthood had been full of rages. And Cole took them in stride, either ignoring her antics or putting an end to them with a well-placed look and a firm command. She’d never stood up to him until she wanted a career enough to throw caution to the winds. But without Emma’s careful pleading, she’d never have won. She’d never seen anyone match Cole. And she never expected to. She felt sorry for Bill, whoever he was. Cole could be utterly cruel.
* * *
They wound up the long driveway with its rows of dogwoods, bare now in the winter chill. The house was austerely elegant amid the dark skeletons of the huge oak and pecan trees. No sooner had the station wagon pulled up at the front steps than Emma Everett Shaw came running down them like a silver-haired whirlwind, her deep brown eyes shimmering with excitement, her arms opened wide in welcome.
Heather ran into those slender, outstretched arms like a baby rabbit into its hutch, the pitiful croak of a sob tearing out of her throat.
“My baby,” Emma cooed, nestling the tumble of waving platinum hair against her shoulder. “My poor baby, you’re safe now, you’re home, Emma’s here.”
That made her cry even more. How many times in her tragedy-torn young life had those words been whispered at her ear? How many tears had poured onto Emma’s thin shoulders? The older woman smelled of spices and flour instead of the expensive perfume she connected with her late mother.
Emma was unpretentious, taking her wealth and position for granted. She could charm beggars and kings alike, and Heather had seen her hide a twenty-dollar bill in a farm woman’s pocket when there was a money problem in the family that Emma knew about. She delighted in being sneaky about her contributions. No one knew exactly how much money she donated to charity, or in what incredible ways she went about her good works. Heather had known her to anonymously pay a monstrous hospital bill that some down-on-his-luck new father couldn’t manage without insurance, and then pretend to be surprised when some member of her garden club told her about it.
Heather