Rawhide and Lace Page 4

  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 felt tears burn her eyes as she stared at the single tombstone that marked both their graves. Love like that had to be a rare thing. She wondered why it had all gone wrong for them.

  Ty, sensing the questions, got leisurely out of the car and came toward her. He was back in his familiar denims, with high leather boots and the beaten-up tan Stetson he’d worn ever since she’d known him.

  “Why couldn’t they live together?” she asked him, curious.

  He shrugged. “He was a cold man, she was a hot woman,” he said succinctly. “That says everything.”

  She flushed as the meaning penetrated, and averted her eyes.

  “What brought that on?” he murmured, and actually started to smile. “I only meant he never showed his feelings, and she wore hers on her sleeve. I don’t know how they were in bed. I never asked.”

  The blush deepened. “Will you stop that?” she muttered.

  “And I thought I was old-fashioned,” he said. He took a draw from his cigarette and sighed heavily as he stared at the three graves. “I’m the last one, now,” he mused. “Funny, I thought Bruce would outlive me by twenty years. He was the one who loved life.”

  “And you don’t?” she asked, lifting her eyes.

  “You work yourself to death trying to make a living, and then you die. In between, you worry about floods, droughts, taxes and capital outlay. That’s about it.”

  “I’ve never known a man more cynical than you,” she told him. “Not even in New York.”

  “I’m a realist,” he corrected. “I don’t expect miracles.”

  “Maybe that’s why none ever happen for you,” she said. She leaned on the cane a little and stared down at Bruce’s grave. “Bruce was a dreamer. He was always looking for surprises, for the unexpected. He was a happy man most of the time, except when he remembered that he was always going to be second best. You’re a hard act to follow. He never felt that he could measure up to you. He said that even your mother talked about you more than she did about him.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that. She seemed to hold me in contempt most of the time. We never understood each other.”

  Her quiet eyes searched his face, the hard lines around his mouth. The iron man, she mused. “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you,” she said quietly. “You give nothing of yourself.”

  His jaw tautened and his pale eyes kindled through the cloud of smoke that left his pursed lips. “Now that’s an interesting statement, coming from you.”

  It was the emphasis he put on it. She saw with sudden clarity a picture of herself lying in his arms by the firelight, moaning as he touched her breasts….

  “I didn’t mean…that kind of giving,” she said uneasily, and dropped her eyes to his broad chest. It strained against the denim, rippling muscles and thick dark hair that covered him from his collarbone down.

  He took another draw from the cigarette. “You said before that you never had anything going with Bruce. Was that true?”

  “Yes,” she said simply. She searched his pale eyes. “I’m sorry there were hard feelings between you because of me. I didn’t volunteer anything, you know, but he asked a lot of quest
ions, and I was pretty upset. I don’t even remember what I said to him. But I didn’t tell him about…what happened. He guessed. Maybe I looked like a fallen woman or something.” She laughed bitterly.

  “You aren’t a fallen woman,” he said. “I came up on your blind side, that’s all. I should have realized when you didn’t put up a fight that you were too naive to know what was happening. You thought I’d stop in time.”

  She shook her head. “I trusted you, it’s true. But you didn’t rape me. It was never that.”

  He sighed heavily and reached out a tentative hand to brush at the loose hair around her collar, pushing it away from her throat, from the scar on her cheek. She shivered a little at letting him see.

  “Was it very painful?” he asked tenderly.

  Her lips trembled as she formed words, and around them the wind blew cold and the sun gave barely any warmth, and death was in the trees as well as the graveyard.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She turned away, trying not to let the feelings overwhelm her a second time. All she seemed to do lately was cry. Impatiently, she brushed away her tears.

  Ty shifted awkwardly. He wasn’t used to women crying. He wasn’t used to women, period. He didn’t know how to handle this situation.

  She straightened. “I’m embarrassing you,” she murmured.

  He’d forgotten how honest she was; she never pulled her punches. Just like himself. His broad shoulders rose and fell. “I’m not used to women,” he told her.

  She searched his eyes. “Why did Bruce tell me you were a womanizer?”

  “Don’t you know?” he asked quietly.

  “You weren’t, though, were you?” she persisted.

  He reached for another cigarette and lit it. “What a hell of a question,” he said shortly.

  “Never mind, don’t answer me; I don’t care,” she shot back. She moved away from the grave, putting more weight on the cane than was necessary in her anger and frustration. “I ought to go back to New York and let Ward Jessup move in with you!”

  “We’d never get on,” he said imperturbably, falling into step beside her. “He’s a nonsmoker.”

  She didn’t believe she’d actually heard him right. Dry humor—from Tyson Wade? She kept walking. “Bruce had moved out, hadn’t he?”

  “Bruce is dead,” he said shortly, stopping to stare down at her. “What he did or didn’t do, or said or didn’t say, has nothing more to do with either of us.”

  “I’m sorry he’s gone.”

  “So am I. But all the mourning in the world won’t bring him back.” He stared back at the grave, and for an instant there was a deep, dark hurt in his eyes. Then he erased it and turned a bland face back to Erin. “Right now, you’re my top priority. I’m going to get you back on your feet again.”

  “I won’t let you take over my life,” she told him.

  “Sure you will,” he replied drily. “You’re nothing but a little walking raincloud right now. You don’t have enough spunk to fight me.”

  “Want to bet?” she said angrily.

  “I don’t gamble. Look out, you’ll break that cane if you aren’t careful.”

  “Then you’d just have to carry me home, wouldn’t you?” she taunted. All the same, she lightened up on the cane. “How long do I have to stay here?”

  “Until you turn sixty-five, if I know Jessup.” He sighed. He glanced at her as they walked. “Put a little more weight on that leg, honey, you need to exercise it.”

  “Listen, cowboy…!” she snapped.

  “I’m not a boy,” he said.

  “Will you listen to me?”

  “Sure. When you say something I want to hear. Get in. I’ve got work to do. Winter isn’t quite as hectic as the rest of the year, but I keep busy. I hope you like reading. You’ll die of boredom without something to keep your mind occupied.”

  “I can watch television,” she muttered as he helped her into the car and got in beside her.

  “I don’t own a television,” he told her.

  Her jaw fell open.

  “I don’t like television,” he persisted, starting the car.

  “What do you do in the evenings?” she asked.

  “I read.”

  She rested her head against the seat. What a wonderful time she was going to have. In between pain pills and being forced to exercise her leg, she could sit and watch him read books. It looked as if Staghorn was going to be a great rest camp—the next best place to hell. Oh, Bruce! she thought miserably, mourning quietly for her old friend, why did you have to die and leave me in this awful mess?

  Chapter Four

  Erin had vowed that she wouldn’t go to the doctor, but Ty simply put her in the car and drove her there. To make matters worse, he raised eyebrows in the crowded waiting room by insisting on going in with her to talk to the doctor.

  Her face flushed wildly as they followed the nurse down the hall.

  “This will be all over town in no time,” she groaned. “How could you do that to me?”

  “Everybody knows you’re living out at the ranch anyway,” he said reasonably.

  He was right, but that didn’t make her feel any more comfortable about it. She hated being the object of idle gossip. People probably already knew that she was getting half of Staghorn, and she could just imagine what they figured she’d done to earn it.

  “Will you stop torturing yourself?” he grumbled, glancing down at her as they stepped into the examination room. “What the hell does it matter if people talk?”

  “Well, it won’t be your reputation that gets ruined, will it?” she returned.

  “Miss Scott? I’m Dr. Alex Brodie.” The elderly, white-coated man entered right behind them and shook hands with Erin and then with Ty. He sat down and went over the details of her surgery with her. Apparently Ty had given him her doctor’s name and he’d had a conversation with the man, because he knew exactly what had been done as well as the exercises that had been prescribed.

  “Have you been doing the physical therapy?” he asked.

  She colored delicately and averted her eyes. “There didn’t seem much point,” she began.

  “Miss Scott, may I be blunt?” he asked, and proceeded to be so. “Surgery can help only to a certain point. You can walk again, but unless you do the exercises, exactly as prescribed, that leg will be stiff for the rest of your life, and you’ll always limp. I understand that you were a professional model. That makes it even more important for you to exercise—if, that is, you have any idea of going back to work in the future.”

  She stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. How could Ty do this to her?

  “We can, of course, have you drive to the hospital each day, and a physical therapist can instruct you and work with you.”

  She looked up, her eyes disturbed. “Oh, no. Please,” she asked gently. “I couldn’t bear that….”

  “Suppose I work with her at the ranch,” Ty suggested. He was sitting cross-legged in a chair, hat on one knee, looking impossibly arrogant. “I had a busted hip once, remember?”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Oh, how I remember!” he said. “One of my best nurses quit, two physical therapists retired…”

  Ty just grinned, and Erin gaped at him, unbelieving. She’d hardly ever seen him smile like that.

  “I could give you a list of the exercises,” the doctor murmured. “But she’ll have to do them twice a day, every day, thirty minutes at a stretch.”

  “She’ll do them,” Ty promised before Erin could open her mouth.

  “I’d like to examine that hip now,” he added, calling his nurse into the room.

  Erin glared at Ty. “Unless you’re planning to do a consultation, Dr. Wade, would you mind leaving?”

  He cocked an eyebrow as he rose. “Testy little thing, aren’t you?” He moved past her. “Watch out,” he told the doctor. “She bites.”

  “Be sure your tetanus jabs are current,” she whispered as he left the room.

  It was amazing, the
ease of that repartee, when once she’d been too tongue-tied to talk to him. In spite of everything that had happened between them, she was still drawn to him. Ty was stronger than any other human being she’d ever known. Just for a little while, she needed to lean on someone. And who better than the man who was partially responsible for her condition?

  Dr. Brodie looked at the stitches, had an X ray made, and pronounced her well on the way to recovery. He prescribed some additional pain pills, in case she needed them, and gave her a preprinted sheet of exercises with special ones circled.

  She stared at them all the way back to Staghorn, dreading the ordeal they represented.

  “I don’t want to start this,” she muttered. “All that pain and cramping, and for what? I’ll always limp!”

  “Not if you want to walk,” he returned impassively. “But you have to be willing to do the work. I’ll help, but I can’t do it for you.”

  “Why should you want to help?” she asked, turning in the seat to fix him with a cold, level stare.

  He was smoking. He took a draw from the cigarette before he answered, and he didn’t look at her. “Because I did that to you, as surely as if I’d pushed you in front of another car.”

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Surely you don’t think that you caused me to have the wreck?”

  “Didn’t I?” He laughed mirthlessly. “You were half hysterical when you left here.”

  “Yes, I was. And I pulled off the road and got myself together before I ever left the ranch!” she told him. “I’m not suicidal, and I’m not homicidal. I never drive when I’m not fit emotionally. By the time the wreck happened, I was at least levelheaded. Even the state patrol said it was unavoidable. I was hit by a drunk driver who took a curve too wide and came at me in my lane. He was killed outright.”

  Ty’s face paled, and his hands clenched the steering wheel tightly. “Lucky man,” he said under his breath. Erin knew what he meant without asking for explanations.

  “So if you’re on some guilt trip, let me reassure you,” she continued quietly. “The only thing you did was try to save your brother from me. And you succeeded.”