Heart of Ice (11 page)

“Is he happy?” Kati asked, because it mattered.

“No,” Dessie said quietly. “He’s got nobody except Miss Ada.”

Kati studied her coffee cup, amazed at how deeply that hurt her. “He’s…not handsome, but he has a way with him. And he attracts women,” she added, remembering Jennie.

“Not the right kind of women” came the tart reply. “Not ever one he could bring to this ranch. Until now.”

Kati blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Now what are you doing?” Egan growled from the doorway, taking in Kati’s red face and Dessie’s shocked expression at his sudden appearance. “Talking about me behind my back, I guess?”

“Well, who else is there to talk about?” Dessie threw up her hands. “I never see anybody except you. Well, there’s Ramey, of course, but he don’t do nothing interesting enough to gossip about, does he?”

Egan shook his head on a tired sigh. “I guess not. Damn. You and your logical arguments.” He took off his hat and coat. “What’s for dinner? I’m half-starved.”

“You’re always half-starved. There’s some sliced turkey in the refrigerator, left over from my solitary Christmas dinner I had all by myself, alone, yesterday.”

Egan glanced at the old woman. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

“I told you I ate by myself!” Dessie growled.

“Well, I guess that means you didn’t have any company,” Egan said pleasantly.

“Wait,” the housekeeper said, “until tonight. And see what I feed you for supper.”

“Let me die of starvation, then,” he said. “I’ll call up Ada and tell her you won’t feed me, and see what you do then!”

Dessie threw down her apron. “Hard case,” she
accused, her lower lips thrusting out. “Just hit me in my weakest spot, why don’t you?”

Egan grinned, winking at Kati, who was seeing a side of him she hadn’t dreamed existed. She liked this big, laughing man who seemed so at home in the wilderness.

He even looked different from the man in the pinstripe suit in Ada’s apartment. He was wearing denim now, from head to foot, and a pair of disreputable brown boots that had seen better days—along with a hat that was surely obsolete. The only relatively new piece of apparel he had was the sheepskin coat he’d just taken off. But he seemed bigger and tougher and in every way more appealing than the sophisticated executive.

“You look different,” Kati remarked absently, watching him.

He cocked an eyebrow as he carried turkey and mayonnaise to the table. “I do?”

“His looks ain’t improved,” Dessie argued.

“Just mind your own business, thank you,” he drawled in her direction and watched her go back to her roast. “And don’t burn that thing up like you did the last one!”

“I didn’t burn nothing up,” she shot back. “That stupid dog of yours got in here and reared up on my stove and changed the heat setting!”

“Durango doesn’t get in the house,” he told her. “And he isn’t smart enough to work a stove, despite being the best cattle dog I own.”

“Well, I wouldn’t turn my back on him,” she muttered. She put the roast in the oven and closed the door. “Excuse me. I got to go to the cellar and get apples. I thought you might like an apple pie. Not that you deserve one,” she added, glaring back as she went out the door.

He only laughed. “Get the bread, honey, and I’ll make you one too,” he told Kati.

“Where is it?”

“In the breadbox.”

She got up and went to the cabinet to get it, but before she could turn around, he was behind her, the length of his body threatening and warm.

“Fell right into the trap, didn’t you?” he breathed, turning her so that her back was against the wall. With his hands on the wall beside her, he eased down so that his body pressed wholly on hers, in a contact that made the blood surge into her face.

“God, it’s wild like this, isn’t it?” he said unsteadily. “I can feel you burning like a brand under every inch of me.”

She opened her lips to speak, and he bent and took them. His mouth was cold from the outdoors, but hers warmed it, so that seconds later it was blazing with heat. A moan growled out of his throat into her hungry, wanting mouth.

She felt his tongue, and her eyes opened suddenly, finding his closed, his brows drawn, as he savored the pleasure. But as if he felt her looking at him, the
thick lashes moved up and his darkening silver eyes looked straight into hers.

On a caught breath he lifted his lips just fractionally over hers. “Now, that’s exciting,” he whispered. “I’ve never watched a woman while I kissed her.”

But obviously he was going to, because his eyes stayed open when he bent again, and so did hers. The hunger and need in his kiss inflamed her, and her hands found their way to the top button on his shirt.

She’d never wanted to touch a man’s bare skin. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when the thought had appealed. But it did now. She could feel the crush of his hips and thighs over hers, and explosive sensations were curling her toes.

Her fingers toyed with his top button while she tried to decide how risky it would be. He was hungry enough without being tempted further, and she wasn’t sure she could handle him.

He lifted his head and watched her fingers. “Are you always this unsure of yourself with a man?” he asked under his breath. “Or is it just me? Touch me if you want to, Kati. I won’t lose my head and bend you back over the kitchen table.”

The wording made it sound cheap, made her sound cheap. The color went out of her face and she eased away from him.

He swore quietly, watching her get the bread and some saucers and start making sandwiches in a strained silence.

“What do you want from me?” he ground out.

She drew in a steadying breath. “I’d settle for a little respect. Not much. Just what you’d give any stranger who came into your house.” Tears welled in her eyes as she spread mayonnaise. “I’m not a tramp, Egan Winthrop.”

He watched a solitary tear land with a splatter on the clean tabletop, and his hands caught her waist convulsively, jerking her back against him.

“Don’t…cry,” he bit off, his fingers hurting.

“Don’t touch me!” she threw back, twisting away from him.

He held on to the edge of the table, glaring as she wiped the tears away and finished making the sandwiches. She pushed his at him and went to put the knife in the sink.

He poured coffee into her cup and his, put the pot away and sat down. She followed suit, but she ate in silence, not even looking at him. Fool, she told herself. You stupid fool, you had to come with him!

Dessie came back to a grinding silence. She stared at them, apples in her apron, and grimaced. “I leave you alone five minutes and you start a war.”

Egan finished his coffee and got up, not rising to the bait. “I’ve got work to do.”

He grabbed his coat and hat and stamped out the door. Kati brushed away more tears. Dessie just shook her head and started peeling apples. After a
minute, she got another bowl and knife and pushed them at Kati.

“Might as well peel,” she told her. “It’ll give your hands something to do while your mind works.”

“Mine doesn’t work,” Kati replied coldly. “If it did, I’d still be in New York.”

“Not many people get under his skin like that,” Dessie commented with a slow grin. “Good to know he’s still human.”

“Well, I’d need proof,” Kati glowered.

“I think you’ll get it,” came the laughing reply. “Now, peel, if you want an apple pie.”

Kati gave in. And it
was
rather soothing, peeling apples. She had a feeling she was going to make a lot of pies before she got her research done.

Chapter Nine

A
fter that little episode, Egan became remote. He was the perfect host, polite and courteous, but about as warm as one of the rocks on his land.

Kati decided that if he could play it cool, so could she. So she was equally polite. And distant. Oddly enough, there were no more violent arguments like the ones they had in the past. Once in a while, she’d notice Egan watching her over the supper table before he disappeared into his study to work, or during a rare minute in the morning before he went to his office down the road. But he kept to himself, and the affectionate, hungry man who’d brought her to the ranch seemed to have vanished into his former, cold counterpart.

But she did accomplish one of her goals. She learned enough about ranching to do a nonfiction work on it.

The logistics of supplies fascinated her. Egan’s cows and second-year heifers were bred to drop calves in February and March. So during January, the ranch manager and his men were very much involved in precalving planning. That meant buying ear tags, identifying first-calf heifers, checking breeding dates to estimate calving dates and arranging for adequate facilities.

Because of the increased herd, move calving pens had to be added, but those were erected during the fall. The cowboys were closely watching the cows now to make sure there were no problems. One of the older hands told her that he always hated being a cowboy during this time of the year and at roundup in the spring, when the cattle had to be branded, vetted, and moved about fifty miles away to summer pasture.

Listening to the men tell about their adventures took up the better part of her days. She was careful not to interfere with their work, having been cautioned by the boss about that. But she was around during breaks and sometimes after dinner, with her pad and pen in hand, asking questions.

It would have been all right if Ramey hadn’t asked her to go to a dance with him. Egan happened to overhear the question, and before Kati could even
get her mouth open to say “No, thanks,” Egan was on top of them.

“If you’re through irritating the men,” he told her cuttingly, “they need their rest.”

She rose, embarrassed to tears but too proud to show it. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize—”

“But, boss,” Ramey groaned, “she wasn’t bothering us!”

There was a loud tumult as the other cowboys in the bunkhouse agreed with pathetic eagerness.

“All the same, good night,” Egan said in his coldest tone. He held the door open; Kati, seeing defeat, shrugged, calling a smiling good night to the men and walked knee-deep in the melting snow back to the truck she’d commandeered for the drive down.

“This way,” Egan said curtly, taking her arm. He led her to his pickup truck and put her inside.

“I was just asking questions,” she muttered. “You told me not to interfere with their work.”

“I didn’t say you could sleep with them,” he growled.

“You pig!” she burst out. Her eyes blazed; her lips trembled with fury. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

“Ramey asked you out—did you think I didn’t hear him?” he asked. He fumbled for a cigarette, surprising her, because she’d seen him smoke only once or twice in the past few days.

“I was going to refuse,” she replied. “He’s a nice boy, but—”

“But not experienced enough for a woman like you, right?” he asked, smiling insolently.

Her breath stopped. “What exactly do you mean, ‘a woman like me’?” she asked deliberately.

“What do you think I mean?”

She clutched the pen and pad in her hand and stared straight ahead.

“No comeback?”

“I won’t need one. I’m going home.”

“Like hell you are.”

“What do you plan to do, Mr. Winthrop, tie me up in a line cabin?”

“Who taught you about line cabins?”

“Gig,” she said uncomfortably, remembering the long, amusing talk she’d had with the sly old foreman.

“Gig never talks to anybody, not even me.”

“Well, he talks to me,” she shot back. “But I guess you’ll accuse me of trying to get him into bed too!”

“You’d hate it,” he said, lifting the cigarette to his mouth. “He only bathes once a month.”

She tried to keep her temper blazing, but she lost and hid the muffled laugh in her hands.

He glanced at her, his eyes sparkling. “If I stop making objectionable remarks to you,” he said after a minute, “do you suppose we might try to get along for the duration?”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, glancing
at him. “You won’t even give me the benefit of a doubt.”

“I’ve read your books,” he reminded her.

“How in God’s name do you think Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote
Tarzan of the Apes?
” she exploded. “Do you believe that he swung from trees in darkest Africa? When he wrote the first book, he’d never even seen Africa!”

He pulled up at the front door and cut off the engine. “Are you trying to tell me that a woman could write a sexy book without having had sex?” He laughed. “No dice, baby. I’m not stupid.”

“That depends on your definitions,” she returned hotly. “About me, yes, sir, you are stupid.”

“Only when you kiss me in that slow, hot way,” he murmured, smiling wickedly, “and try to take off my shirt.”

She slammed the pen against the pad impotently and glared at him.

“All right,” he said after a minute and crushed out the cigarette. “I’ll apologize for the crude remark I made in the kitchen. Will that pacify you?”

“I want to make something crystal-clear,” she returned, gripping the pad tightly. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m here to research a book.”

His eyes darkened and he studied her closely. “Put it in words, not innuendos.”

“I don’t want to be mauled around,” she replied.

“Tell Ramey. He was the one who wanted to take you off into the woods,” he said on a laugh.

“So did you!” she accused.

He shook his head. “No. I wanted to take you into my bed. There’s a difference.”

“Geographical,” she countered.

He sighed and reached out to smooth a long, unruly strand of her hair. “I want you. I haven’t made any secret of it. You want me, too. It’s just going to take more time than I thought.”

“I won’t sleep with you,” she told him.

“You will,” he replied softly, searching her eyes. “Eventually.”

“Is that a threat?” she asked, finding her fighting feet.

“No, ma’am,” he said, grinning.

She glared at him uncertainly. “I don’t understand you.”

“You’ve got a whole lot of company,” he told her. He dropped her hair. “Better get some rest. And don’t go back to the bunkhouse at night. Keeps the boys awake.”