Heather Graham (4 page)

“I didn’t name him” was all Kane said. Thor nuzzled Martine’s shirt slightly, then seemed to turn of his own accord.

Standing in the dusty pathway, Martine was left to wonder when—and if—he would return. The great bay ate the dirt in great lengths with a canter as smooth as the flight of a bird, but at the highway the horse came to an abrupt halt. Kane Montgomery was looking back at her. He lifted a hand in salute and then was gone. Martine stared after him for a long while before she slowly returned to the house. Once there she sat down and stared out the front bay windows for a long, long time. At last she gazed down at her watch. Thank God, it was after twelve!

She leaped off the old sofa and hurried into the kitchen. Within minutes she had concocted herself a huge, peppery Bloody Mary. The celery would have to do for lunch.

Long before noon Kane Montgomery rode through the high wrought-iron gates of another ranch. A number of men were breaking a few wild mustangs as he came down the drive, and he waved to the hands, who called out greetings. Moments later he was in front of a huge, white, sprawling ranch house, one that was cool and breezy in the Mexican style. Thor’s hooves clattered lightly over stones in the courtyard; then Kane dismounted from the horse and gave him a firm slap on the hindquarters. He knew Thor; the bay would head straight for the barn, and old Sam would laugh with delight, remove the horse’s saddle and trappings, and probably supply him with a nice handful of the best alfalfa available.

Kane smiled as he watched the bay trot off, then entered the front door without knocking. There was no one around as he crossed over the Spanish tiles to the bar in the back of the room. He tossed his hat onto a brown leather chair, wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, then ducked behind the bar to find the refrigerator and dig out an ice-cold beer. It was one hell of a red-hot day.

The beer went down smoothly. Nursing it along and appreciating the coldness, Kane walked back around the bar to stare out at the dome-screened pool that lay beyond open arches. One hand on his hip, the other wrapped around his beer, he stared at the tranquil setting but didn’t see it. The beer had cooled him, but he had grown hot all over again, thinking of the scene he had interrupted at the Four-Leaf Clover that morning.

“Martine Galway.” He said her name aloud as if testing it with his tongue. He could still hear the ferocity of her voice as she had fought Lander; he could still see the brilliant blue-green blaze of her eyes as she raged against the man.

And he admitted a little wryly, he could all too clearly remember her compact form: the rise of her half-exposed breasts before she thought to grab at her shirt, the narrow enchantment of her waist, and the definite lure that was the flare of her hips.

“Kane. You beat me back!”

He turned with a slow frown at the sound of the gruff voice. The man approaching him was almost as tall as, but several decades older, than Kane was. His hair was as white as drifting snow but still thick upon his head.

For an old coot, Joe Devlin, you cut a fine figure,
Kane thought, extending his hand to take the one offered him.

“Yeah, Joe,” Kane said.

“Did you get out to the Four-Leaf Clover?” Joe asked anxiously.

“That I did,” Kane said dryly.

“And?” Joe walked to the bar but watched Kane as he did so. Kane followed him and took a seat in one of the huge leather chairs that flanked the fireplace beyond the bar.

“I came upon the lady in question under a certain amount of duress,” Kane told the older man, his eyes following Joe’s movements as he also pulled out a cold beer, then took a chair opposite Kane.

Joe’s thick white brows were pulled over his eyes in a worried frown. “Lord a’mighty! Was she hurt?”

“No.” Kane decided not to go into detail. “But Lander was there. With a little persuasion he left.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“No. Why should he?”

“Your picture’s been around,” Joe said thoughtfully, “but maybe not too much. So go on. What’s the real problem?”

Kane shrugged. “Martine Galway admitted she signed a promissory note to him. And the note was due today.”

“Damn!” Joe exploded. “It’s my fault the fool girl ever did a thing like that to begin with.”

“Your fault? How?” Kane asked. “Joe, you’re a Senator. When the Senate’s in session, you’ve got to be there.”

“Not to the point that I don’t know what’s going on in my own backyard!” Joe distractedly drummed his fingers against the arms of the chair. “Thank God Bart got wind of this in time.” He stood and angrily paced over to stare out at the pool as Kane had done. “I promised that girl’s father I’d watch out for her. Some guardian I turned out to be.”

“There wasn’t much you could have done,” Kane said. “The ‘girl’ is a woman, Joe. And a spitfire if I’ve ever seen one. You could never hover over her like a mother hen.”

“Yes, but if I’d just been available, she’d have come to me for assistance.”

There was no real answer for that, but Kane loved the old man, so he gave him the best assurance he could. “Joe, it doesn’t matter. It’s all over now. I’m going to find Lander, pay him, and see that he keeps his distance.” Kane stood, finished his beer, and set the empty bottle on the bar. “Mind if I keep that bay of yours for a while?”

Joe turned back to Kane, frowning in perplexity. “Hell, Kane, I don’t care if you keep him for life, but what are you talking about? Why would you need to keep him anywhere? I thought you were planning on spending some time here.”

Kane grinned. “I’ve decided to take a job.”

One of Joe’s bushy eyebrows shot up.

“At the Four-Leaf Clover. That girl needs a foreman.”

“Woman.” Joe corrected him this time.

“Mmm.” Kane agreed, still grinning. Then he sobered, and even Joe Devlin was reminded that the man could look as hard as the devil himself when he chose. “Don’t forget, Joe, I’ve got my own settling up to do with the ranch.”

“You’re on a fool’s quest, Kane.”

“Maybe. But you’ll keep my secret, won’t you?”

“Yes, you know I will. I just thought you might want to spend some time relaxing. You know, days out at the pool sipping margaritas, catching up on some reading, riding for the pleasure of it.”

“If things go my way,” Kane said, slipping his hat down low over his forehead, “I will be spending a few days by the pool—but not yours, Senator!” He laughed at the puzzled expression on the older man’s face. “You told me that Martine Galway was a pretty girl. You were wrong. She’s the stuff dreams and fantasies are woven from.”

Joe glanced at Kane with narrowing eyes. “Tread carefully with her, Kane. She’s been through a lot. Don’t …” He hesitated. Maybe he had no right to give warnings to other people, and he was more perceptive than Kane realized. Kane hadn’t said much—he never did—but Joe knew that Kane had arrived at Martie’s just in time to prevent some real disaster.

“Don’t hurt her.” He finished a little lamely. But then he chuckled, a bright light touching his eyes. “Never mind. Come to think of it, Martie Galway might be just what you need, my boy. The lady’s been known to cause a heart or two to bleed.”

Kane laughed again. “Sounds like you think the two of us would be fitting adversaries in some kind of arena.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I mean.”

Kane shrugged. “Well, you’d better excuse me, Joe, or there will be no ranch, and I’d rather not see her face a certain other adversary again.”

“By all means, get going.”

Kane nodded. Joe Devlin walked him to the door. “Take the CJ-seven into town, then come back here for the horse. It will be a lot faster. Oh, and Kane, what do you want me to do if anyone asks for you?”

Kane shrugged. “No one should be asking. I’m a big kid now, Joe. I’ve been out on my own a long time, and I’m known to land on my feet.”

“Keep in touch.”

Kane nodded.

When he walked back into the sunshine, he saw the jeep parked up the drive. Senator Joseph Devlin had a tendency to be a step ahead of everyone, Kane thought with affection. He had probably ordered the jeep pulled around the second he had realized Kane had returned.

But as he left the driveway behind and headed for town, Kane wasn’t thinking about Joe Devlin. He was thinking about Martine Galway, about the way he’d felt when he saw Lander pinning her to the ground.

His fingers gripped the gearshift, and he forced himself to inhale a long, shaky breath. He couldn’t make trouble with Lander now—not the kind of trouble he wanted to make. Joe Devlin wanted to pin Lander with all the legal goods he could.

Besides, he thought, his scowl fading a bit as he eased back into the comfortable driver’s seat of the vehicle, on one score he had something in common with Lander.

He hadn’t been able to think about anything but Martine since he’d met her either. Daydreams and fantasies—just as he had told Joe. He wondered just what kind of hero he really was, saving her from the pressuring affections of one man when he would have loved to have grabbed her and swept her up a staircase himself.

He wanted her, just as Lander did. He didn’t think that any healthy male could see her and not have a few carnal thoughts.

Obsessions, he admitted. He could deny anything to her, but not to himself. He would love to have her in lieu of $8,000—in lieu of $80 for that matter. Because just like Lander, he’d envisioned her naked, decked only in that wild mane of waving hair, her eyes liquid and flashing, her flesh bared to his touch, her arms reaching for him.

Kane twisted his jaw, irritated with the tension that coiled in his body. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and glanced at the rolling scenery he passed: scrub mostly; some decent grassland.

Finally he sighed, having convinced himself that there was a difference between Lander and him. He wanted her with a desire so intense that it was startling, haunting, but he wanted her to want him in return, touching him with the same longing and fascination. …

He grimaced. Somehow he didn’t see it. She’d been grateful to him but wary too. Sparks had flown between them with the explosive quality of dry tinder.

And, he reminded himself, eyes narrowing with self-annoyance, there was something else he had to want more than a woman he had just met. There was something else more important: a promise he had made to another woman, one very, very dear to his heart.

His fool’s quest, Joe called it.

What he wanted was the Four-Leaf Clover. It had to take precedence over everything.

M
ARTINE WASN’T AT ALL
sure that she hadn’t gone crazy, but by the time dusk started falling, she was out at the barbecue with a pile of the Four-Leaf Clover’s best T-bone steaks. Potatoes and corn, too, were cooking in the coals, and she’d spent more than an hour cutting and washing vegetables for a colossal effort that would put most salad bars to shame.

Maybe it wasn’t so crazy. If Kane Montgomery had been real and she did get to keep the ranch, it would be a celebration. And if she were going to be out by midnight, well, at least she wouldn’t be leaving much food behind!

Bill Stuart was the first of her hands to come walking around the house, a quizzical frown set into his weather worn, gaunt features. She gave him a brilliant smile while he stood staring at her, holding his hat and scratching his thinning pate.

“Martie, why’s the front door locked? And what’s happening here? Did you get Lander to extend that loan this morning?”

The tone of his voice was suspicious and paternal. Bill and his wife, Sonia, had worked for her dad. Sonia was supposedly the cook and housekeeper, but ever since Ed Rice, the foreman, had been laid up in the hospital, Sonia had been riding cattle and fixing fences alongside her husband. Sonia didn’t mind at all. She was a ball of energy, just as happy and at ease in the saddle as she was in a kitchen.

“Did you wash up, Bill?” Martine asked sweetly.

“That’s not exactly the question here, is it, young woman?” Bill asked sternly, tossing his hat onto a lawn chair and picking a slice of cucumber from the bowl at the long folding table Martine had set out near the pool. “What happened this morning? And I want the truth of it! Why are you out here doing all this? Did Lander extend the loan?”

Martine dropped one of the thick steaks onto the grill. It sizzled immediately with a little cloud of smoke, and she inhaled deeply when the delicious aroma hit the air.

“Martine Galway—”

“No. Lander did not extend the loan,” she replied.

“Then—”

“We’re having a house barbecue anyway. I—I may have gotten a new loan.”

She threw another steak on the fire, aware that Bill had planted his hands on his hips and was watching her with suspicious wariness.

“From who?”

“A man.”

“Great. What man?”

Martine was saved from answering when Sonia came around the corner. She was a solid woman with ample breasts and an almost homely face that became fascinating when she smiled. She wasn’t really a maternal figure at all, yet Martie had grown up with her and loved her dearly.

“Martie?” she asked instantly, her bright blue eyes probing.

Martine had to chuckle. They both were staring at her as if her own earlier suspicion were true: She must have lost her mind.

“Well, I don’t know yet,” she said flatly, but a smile did curve her lips. “But if the world is lost, what the hell! We’ll just consider it the fall of the Roman Empire and enjoy the night. Bill, go get the cooler out of the kitchen, will you? We’ve got lots of red wine and beer to go with rare steaks!”

“I’ll get the cooler,” Bill told his wife, inclining his head toward Martie. “You get Miss Effervescence over there to tell you what she’s talking about!” A little put-out, Bill strode across the patio and through the back door.

Sonia walked over to Martie. “All right. What man? What’s going on here?”

But once again Martie was saved from an answer because Jim Pix, her third and last hand, came around the corner, looking as confused as the Stuarts had been.

“Do I smell a barbecue? Wow, Martine, what a spread! Why’s the front door locked? Did you get the loan extended? I guess you must have!” Jim was barely what Martine termed legal. He was a tall, lanky young man, just out of college, the son of a Wyoming rancher who had decided all his offspring would profit most from seeking hard work elsewhere before taking on their own ranches. He was freckled and sandy all over: light brown eyes; sun-bleached light brown hair. Jim had been certain that his dad could have—and would have—helped if only they’d had more time.