Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth. Joan Johnston
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I want to help.”
“What is it you think you can do?” Faron asked. He preferred to keep her—and temptation—as far from him as possible.
Belinda’s chin came up pugnaciously. “What do you need done?”
Faron tried to think of something that would impress upon his stepmother—he had to keep reminding himself how Belinda had deceived him about her identity—how very much work was involved in restoring King’s Castle to its former greatness.
Not one, but several ideas caught his fancy. He reached out and grabbed Belinda’s hand and pulled her after him. “Come with me. I want to start with a tour of the ranch, so I can get some idea of what needs to be done.” He only got as far as the back porch before he stopped and asked, “Are there enough roads to get us where we need to go, or should we do this survey on horseback?”
Belinda wasn’t sure which was worse. Spending half the day on horseback together would remind them both of the events of the previous day. But if she said they ought to drive, she would have to endure an hour or more confined with him in the cab of a pickup truck. The pickup seemed the lesser of two evils.
“It would be faster and more efficient to drive,” she said. “But the only pickup I have isn’t in very good mechanical shape.”
Faron grimaced at this reminder of the state of poverty in which his father had left his stepmother and grandmother. “We’ll take my truck. Just give me a minute to disconnect the horse trailer,” he replied.
It was strange seeing King’s Castle through Faron’s eyes. The splendor of the land, which Belinda had taken for granted, he found not only pleasing to the eye, but a definite economic asset.
“The land itself is a selling point,” he explained to her. “It hasn’t been overdeveloped. The grass is tall and there’s lots of it.”
She headed him in the direction of the small herd of Herefords that still roamed King’s Castle.
“I see you’re using a windmill for water,” he said as he pulled the truck to a stop beside the windmill tank.
Faron got out of the truck and headed for the windmill, and Belinda followed after him. He leaned his head back and watched and listened as the wind pushed the windmill around.
“It’s not running right,” he said at last. “You’ve got a bolt or two loose up top that ought to be tightened.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Who would you suggest I send up there to tighten them. Myself? Or Toby?”
Faron recalled the stature of the stocky cowhand, then gave Belinda a looking over that had a blush skating up her throat. “I guess you,” he said at last in a taunting voice.
Belinda’s eyes went wide. Was he serious? But if he thought she would back off from such a chore, he had another think coming. “All right,” she said, pushing her sleeves up out of the way. “What is it you want me to do?”
Faron pursed his lips in chagrin. He had been certain she would defer the job to him. Now he found himself in the awkward position of having to admit that he had been manipulating the situation. He certainly didn’t expect a woman to do the kind of dangerous repair job that was necessary.
He opened his mouth to tell her so and shut it again. The challenging look in her violet eyes dared him to admit he was wrong. Before he conceded the issue, Faron decided to see just how far she was willing to go.
He left Belinda and crossed to the back of his pickup where he kept a tool chest. He rattled around in it for a few moments and came back with a wrench.
“I think this is the tool you’ll need.”
Belinda took the wrench from him, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with it. What she was thinking must have shown in her face, because he stepped up beside her and showed her how to adjust it.
“This way tightens it, this way loosens it. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
Belinda stared at the thin metal ladder that was attached to the windmill. Her eyes followed it what seemed an immense distance into the air. She swallowed and said, “No. I’m not afraid of heights.”
“What you’re looking for is the bolt that attaches the wheel. Right now the wheel isn’t at the correct angle to the yaw axis in the vane.”
“What?” Belinda hadn’t the vaguest notion what he was talking about.
“You do understand how a windmill works, don’t you?”
Belinda wrinkled her nose. “Sort of. I understand the principle of the thing, but not exactly how the pieces fit together.”
“Maybe you’d better let me do this.” Faron waited for her to concede that he was the one better equipped to handle this job. He had underestimated her stubbornness.
“I can do it,” she insisted. “If you’ll just explain what it is I have to do.”
“That’s a little difficult without having the windmill down here where I can point things out,” Faron said.
Belinda looked at the ladder. No way could both of them go up it together. “Let me try,” she said at last. “If I can’t fix it, then you can do the job.”
Faron was amazed, but not amused, by Belinda’s insistence on climbing to the top of the windmill. “Dammit, woman. It’s dangerous to go up there.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I am,” he muttered. Faron wasn’t about to let her endanger her life. “You’ve proved your point,” he said. “You’re willing to do what has to be done. Now give me that wrench, and let me go up and tighten that bolt.”
“I’m not helpless!”
“I never said you were,” Faron retorted. “Now give me the damn wrench!”
Instead, she turned and started up the ladder.
Faron put both arms around her and dragged her back down. Belinda didn’t come without a fight. The wrench fell to the ground in the struggle. She kicked and hit at Faron, but he had her from behind and her efforts to free herself were useless.
At last she slumped in his arms.
“Are you done fighting me?” he asked.
“Let me go.”
“Are you done fighting me?” he repeated.
“Yessss,” she hissed.
Now that he could let her go, Faron realized he didn’t want to. His body was way ahead of his mind. It had long since reacted strongly and certainly to the woman in his arms. Faron felt the weight of her soft breasts resting on his forearm. She smelled of soap and shampoo and woman. His hands slid down until his fingertips lay at the base of her belly.
“Faron.”
Belinda bit her lip to keep from saying more than Faron’s name. Oh, God, she wanted him! She wanted to lie with him, to merge their bodies, to join their souls. But she was not so far gone with desire that she couldn’t see the folly of repeating what had happened the previous day.
Belinda covered the male hand on her belly with her own. “We can’t do this, Faron. Please. Your father—”
His whole body stiffened. A moment later she was free.
Belinda was afraid to turn around and face him. When she did, she wished she hadn’t. There was an awful look of disgust and disdain on his face. The gray-green eyes she had found so fascinating yesterday were slicing shards of cut green glass today.
She stooped to pick up the wrench, thus avoiding his piercing gaze. When she rose, she kept her lashes lowered. She held out the wrench, and he took it from her, careful not to touch her hand. Soon after, he was halfway up the ladder.
“Be