Heather's Song. Diana Palmer
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fragile, cold piece of porcelain her mother had been.
“That’s enough,” Cole said suddenly. He separated the two women and, holding Heather roughly by the arm, herded her up the stairs. “I don’t mind a few tears, but you can’t have hysterics on the front steps.”
Her bright, flaming eyes glared up at him violently, and she wanted to hit him. Behind them, Emma was moving quickly up the steps, muttering under her breath. Heather almost smiled. All her life, Emma had muttered at men—first at her husband, then at Heather’s father, and now at Cole. It was her own form of passive rebellion, and Heather couldn’t help being amused by it. Emma muttered with style.
Once they were in the house, Emma smiled gently at the tear-stained face of her stepdaughter. “Go upstairs and rest, sweetheart,” she said softly, “and I’ll bring you some hot chocolate. Would you like that?”
Heather’s blue eyes lit up. Hot chocolate had always soothed her; it was Emma’s answer to chicken soup. She nodded enthusiastically, pausing to throw a hostile glance in Cole’s general direction before she held on to the curved, polished wood of the bannister and moved slowly up the beige carpeted staircase to her old room.
She threw open the door and let her tired eyes drink in the sight of the delightfully pink room. The wallpaper was pale pink and matched the thick quilted coverlet and pillow shams on the double bed. There was a full-length mirror on the closet door, and a crystal lamp on the antique washstand against the wall. The carpeting was the same soft beige as in the rest of the house, and there was a wing chair upholstered in fabric that matched the wallpaper.
Heather settled herself on the window seat and looked out over the white-fenced ranch, ignoring Cole as he entered the room to place her bags on the floor before coming to stand beside her.
He followed her gaze to the sweep of land in its winter desolation. The red-coated cattle were massed at feed troughs where silage was taking the place of lush green grass in their diets. Paddocks near the barn sported handsome Appaloosa stallions and two white-coated fillies in separate pastures. Heather sighed, remembering what it was like to ride a horse out through the fields, to hear the lazy creak of saddle leather and to feel the spring breeze wafting in her loosened hair.
“When you’re a little stronger, I’ll take you riding,” Cole said suddenly, as if he’d looked into her mind. It was an uncanny habit he’d always had, one that never failed to stun her. “That is, if you haven’t forgotten how to ride.”
She glared at him, meeting the challenge in his polished silver eyes as she jerked her head deliberately from side to side.
A mocking smile touched his chiseled mouth. “I can almost see the words in your mind,” he mused, making her feel more child than woman.
She hit out at him unexpectedly. It was the only alternative to the scalding tirade she couldn’t produce—but it proved equally ineffective. He caught her wrist with his lean, powerful fingers and jerked her against him. His other hand tangled in the long, silken ribbon of her hair, subduing her effortlessly as he pulled her head back until her stunned eyes met his.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said quietly, his darkening gaze sweeping across her flushed face, taking in the creamy skin, the fullness of her mouth. “You’re not too big to spank, Sunflower.”
She struggled, but he only held her closer, mocking her with his lean, surprising strength. He’d never held her like this before, and she’d never fought with him physically. It was new, heady, to tempt Cole into violence.
She pushed against him and he ended the unequal struggle all too easily, jerking her ruthlessly closer against his hard body. His face was so close that she could feel his warm, smoky breath on her forehead.
“Still fighting me?” he growled. “When are you going to learn that if there’s any bending to be done between us, you’ll do it?”
She subsided against him, her eyes blazing, wide with fury. “I hate you!” she mouthed deliberately.
He chuckled softly. “No, you don’t,” he said, his glittering eyes narrow with amusement as he looked down at her. “You hate not being able to argue with me, but you don’t hate me. I’ll never let that happen, Heather.”
The shock of hearing her name on his lips brought a faint frown to her face. He rarely ever called her by name. It was as if he threw careless endearments at her to keep her at a distance.
He pushed the damp hair back from her face. “You’ll talk again,” he said in an uncommonly kind tone. “And you’ll sing, too, but you have to believe in yourself. Life is a challenge, Heather, not a gift. Nothing is handed to us without a little effort on our parts.”
But I did work, she tried to tell him, I did, even if I had the talent to begin with, I worked to polish it! But without her voice, only her eyes could speak for her.
He searched the blue, misty depths with a quiet intensity that fanned her pulse. In the sudden silence of the room, every emotion seemed magnified. He touched her mouth with a long finger and traced, very gently, every soft curve of it. His eyes followed the movement, very narrow, very intent….
Her lips parted involuntarily under that strange gaze, her breath rushed out in a soft sigh. When his eyes darted back up to hers, something in them made her want to tear away from him and run. She’d never before felt the electricity that was gathering between them now with all the intensity of a summer storm.
“Cole…” she whispered unthinkingly, the name coming to her lips with unconscious ease. She paused, startled at the sound of her own voice.
Cole smiled. “It’s taken you a long time, Heather,” he said quietly.
“For…what?” she mouthed, unwilling to trust herself to speak again.
“To wonder how it would feel if I took your mouth under mine,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed wildly with color as the words hit home. Suddenly everything was changed, upside down. She was being forced to admit something she’d submerged in her mind for ages—that she was aware of Cole as a man.
There was absolute stillness as two pairs of eyes met, asked questions, and waited for answers. Time hung, quivering, between them.
Chapter Three
Emma’s quick step in the hall outside broke the spell. Cole released Heather with reluctance, and she avoided his eyes as she stood quietly beside the window seat.
“Here I am,” Emma said with a smile, darting a quick look from her son to her stepdaughter. She didn’t mention the raw tension she felt in the room as she set down a tray on the bedside table. There was a steaming cup of hot chocolate and a slice of fresh cheesecake on the tray, and Heather suddenly realized how hungry she was.
She smiled and mouthed “thank you” at the older woman, who beamed.
“Don’t forget Tessa, dear,” Emma told her son as she sat down in the wing chair by the bed.
“As if I could,” he replied with a frankly sensual smile. Without even glancing in Heather’s direction, he turned and strode with catlike grace to the door. “I think Heather’s on the road to recovery. She was just able to say my name out loud,” he called over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him.
Tessa. Heather felt a queer emptiness as she recalled the other girl’s jet-black hair, swinging down to an impossibly narrow waist, and her black eyes that always kept the men jumping at parties. Tessa was the only daughter of a neighboring rancher, and as spoiled as a three-day-old dead fish. Anything she wanted, she got. And for years now, she’d wanted Cole.
“It’s Tessa’s birthday.” Emma was chattering as if Heather had been paying rapt attention. “Cole’s flying her to a concert in San Antonio. Poor dear, she’s spent weeks choosing just the right dress.”
Poor dear, indeed, Heather thought.