Western Winds Page 4

  It was the dangerous fury in his gaze that held her silent.

  “I’ve never had much truck with your kind of woman, but you push, I’ll push back.”

  It was the steely threat in his voice, low timbered and husky, more than his look that brought her up out of the chair, leaning over the desk. Slamming both hands flat, her arms rigid, she brought her face to within inches of his.

  “Your name isn’t on the deed yet—if that damn will was true and—”

  “You doubt it?” he cut in with a grin creasing the arrogant curve of his mouth.

  “Yes! And don’t you dare interrupt me again.” Lacey fought for control. Fury seethed inside her. Their warm breaths mingled for a moment before she jerked her head back. Why she noticed how long his lashes were she never recalled later. Thick and black, their tips curled and the slant of them sweeping over his eyes called attention to the direction of his stare. His view was unobstructed to the exposed valley between her breasts. Her choice was to remain as she was, for she refused to make an admission that she feared him.

  It was that exact moment, when neither moved, that Lacey knew she would fight him, not only for ownership of the Reina, but any other possession of hers he sought to take. No doubts clouded her mind that with the animal aura of danger exuding from him, as it had from Sy, she would be forced to fight him every step of the way.

  “I don’t give a damn about you or anything you claim. I want to be alone. I would also expect you to have some decency, if you are capable—”

  “I don’t. I choose to remain right here.” He leaned closer over the desk, deliberately threatening her, his gaze shifting from hers to the thrust of her breasts. “Damn prettiest sight I’ve seen in a long time.”

  It was his mocking look that forced her palm up, the crack of flesh against flesh giving her the utmost satisfaction. He snagged her wrist before she could blink, dragging her close, their furious gazes locked together.

  “You goddamned spoiled bitch! Don’t ever dare that again.”

  He released her suddenly and sat on the corner of the desk. His move forced Lacey’s gaze to the worn gunbelt strapped low on his hip. The rawhide ties seemed stretched to their limit to meet around his muscular thigh. Every little move of his body along with the intensity of his look said he could use that gun.

  “I asked you to leave once. While I don’t care what you find pleasing or not, this time I am asking—not ordering— you to get out.”

  “That’s better, princess. But I ain’t leaving, since you and me better get a few things straight right now.”

  Lacey recoiled from the knowing gleam in his eyes and the implacable note in his voice. He watched her from beneath hooded lids with a mocking tilt to his mouth that made her want to scream. Suddenly she realized he enjoyed baiting her. That knowledge made her assume a reasonable tone. “I’m not accustomed to having my requests ignored.”

  “Yeah. I know,” he answered softly with a nod toward the closed door. Her hazel eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared like a cornered animal scenting danger. He smiled. “By the way, princess, in case you missed hearing it, my name’s Rafe Parrish. Use it when you talk to me. Where I hail from, we call it simple courtesy.” Her hostile glare made him goad her. “Go on. Try it. Name rolls easy off the tongue.”

  Why was she, Lacey Garrett, letting him talk to her like this? He was rude, insolent, and nothing more than a drifter, by the shabby way he dressed. And he presumed to teach her courtesy?

  Curt entered the room, distracting her. “Are you all right?” He scowled seeing Parrish sitting on the desk, leaning close to her. “In case you’ve forgotten, the judge is waiting and impatient to finish this.”

  “The lady’s fine,” Rafe answered without turning. “And this conversation hardly got started, much less finished.”

  Lacey drew a breath, furious with his arrogance, but she never had a chance to speak.

  “You need to get your facts straight, Parrish. I am not only Lacey’s attorney, which gives me the right to be here and question anything you do, but she is going to be my wife.”

  Neither man looked at Lacey or acknowledged her soft cry.

  Rafe turned then, slowly, glanced at Curt and then back to her. “That true? You already promised to marry him?”

  The contemptible tone of his voice made her close her eyes. Lacey was frightened, drawn back in time, hearing Sy’s voice again. It was long minutes before she could regain a measure of control to look at both of them.

  “Curt, please ask the judge to be patient a few minutes more. I’m sure whatever it is that this man feels he must say to me alone won’t take long.”

  “I’ll go,” Curt said, feeling the tightening inside his gut acknowledge Parrish as a threat to his plans. “But I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  Rafe ignored the warning look Curt shot him before he closed the door. He turned to Lacey, his gaze pinning her where she stood. “You didn’t answer me, princess.”

  “Stop it! It’s none of your business if I’m going to marry him or not. You have no right to ask.” Lacey already hated the grin that twisted his lips before he spoke.

  “But it is. You heard the terms of the will. You get hitched, I’ll own it all. So everything on this ranch is now my business, partner. It’s just one of the things I want to get straight between us.”

  “Oh?” Lacey made a supreme effort to control her temper. “What else did you want to get straight between us—partner? Tell me. I’m just adying to hear.” To those who knew Lacey, there was warning in the honied tone.

  But Rafe didn’t know Lacey. He judged her by what he saw for himself. A spoiled princess, more than passably pretty, who played at being man-hard. Abruptly he slid off the desk, standing with his back toward her. No, he didn’t know her any better than he had known Sy Garrett. When the judge found him rotting in that Mexican jail six weeks ago, he said they would all accept him, not easily, but eventually. He had no need to remind himself that nothing in his life had been easy. It was the hard lessons he had learned so early that served him now. The princess was not going to give him an inch of the Reina without a fight. But then, he had had to fight for whatever he wanted for twenty-six years.

  “I don’t expect my sudden intrusion into your life to be pleasing to you, but I’m here, princess, and I intend to stay.” He reached the door when her demand stopped him.

  “I’m not finished with you.”

  “Don’t get riled,” he countered softly. “Just calling the judge and your lapdog, Blaine, to come in and get this over. We can settle what’s between us later.”

  “Between us?” she sputtered. “If you intend to stay—”

  “I am. Don’t make the mistake of questioning my word.”

  Lacey decided to ignore his warning. “Leave that door closed, and don’t ever, ever call Curt a lapdog. Mine or anyone’s. He’s a gentleman, something you wouldn’t understand. He would never impose his will over my express wishes and—”

  “…and that’s the kind of man you’ll marry? One you can lead by rope and halter?”

  “You are the damnedest, most rude, arrogant, and insufferable man to constantly interrupt me! Curt was Sy’s good friend. He’s a most capable attorney. He’s—”

  “Spare me a list of his virtues, princess. You forgot to call him a liar, ’cause I don’t hear you saying you’ll marry him.”

  Lacey found it almost impossible to draw breath for a moment. His look chilled her but forced her to speak.

  “I can’t marry him. If that will is true, I can’t marry anyone, or I’ll lose my share of the Reina.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned, his eyes steady and direct on her. “I know.”

  “Shut up! Why don’t you tell me what claim you have to the Reina? Did Sy owe you money?” she grated from between clenched teeth, her lo
ok scorning the possibility. “If he did, I’ll buy you out.”

  Rafe didn’t move but tension rode him. He glanced down at her fingers drumming impatiently on the desk.

  “Well?” she goaded. “Don’t you know? Where’s that arrogant insolence that made you so bold?” Lacey stopped, realized how tensely he stood there, and took a few calming breaths. “You can’t expect me to believe that you don’t know why you are suddenly named heir to half of the Reina. Why the hell are you entitled to it?”

  Familiar pain tightened his gut. Rafe targeted his gaze to her eyes, forcing himself to speak the words that he had not yet accepted.

  “Sure I know. You already said it.”

  “Damn you! Stop talking in riddles and answer me. Why did my father leave you half the Reina?”

  “Your father?” His fury flared high with another scornful look from her. His temper, never on a long lead, seemed ready to burst watching her gaze travel over him as if he were a saddle tramp begging for a handout. He pitied the man that did.

  “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked in a taut, barely controlled voice.

  Lacey shook her head, a visible tremor shaking her.

  “You said it, princess. I’m his bastard son come to claim his share.”

  “My father would never—”

  “You’re not his daughter. You’re a bastard just like me.”

  Chapter 4

  Shocked into silence, Lacey stared at him. She could feel her mouth working, tried to speak, but no sound escaped. A constricting dryness gripped her throat, and she forced a swallow. There was no moisture left in her mouth. Rigidly poised, only her eyes moved to follow him across the room to the side table, where Sy’s private stock of liquor was arranged in cut-glass decanters.

  Her gaze targeted his large-boned hands on the fragile glass. If he gripped it hard, he would shatter it. Then he was at her side, holding out a glass of liquor, and when she didn’t move, he raised it to her lips, ordering her to drink.

  Lacey didn’t move. She couldn’t.

  “Drink it now. It’ll help.”

  Help? Nothing could rid her of this numbness stealing over her body.

  Roughly taking hold of her chin, he forced her head up. Rafe stared at the bloodless lips before forcing the edge of the glass against them, tilting it with enough pressure that forced her to swallow. He refused to look into her eyes, but repeated his motion with the liquor until she gagged.

  “Easy now,” he whispered, holding the half-empty glass aside. He wanted to touch her but didn’t. She suddenly appeared soft, small, and helpless, and he was afraid she would shatter. Once again he lifted the glass, and this time she finished it.

  Lacey had tasted brandy, but never like this. Never with the taste of bitter bile souring her mouth as the liquid fire hurdled down her throat. She pushed the glass away, raising her eyes, like those of a wounded animal, to his.

  It was that wounded, vulnerable look that shook Rafe to his core. Gone was the prideful, spoiled princess that defied a crowd with her gaze. He was suddenly aware of how small she really was. Her head would reach beneath his chin, her slight build, the delicate bone structure of her features all made her appear fragile. How could Sy Garrett let her believe she was his natural daughter? How could anyone?

  A tiny whimper escaped her, and her eyes closed. The sound grated along his nerve endings, drawing him back into time, until he saw his mother make that same hopeless sound, that same despairing motion. Carefully then, he set the glass on the desk, holding his breath for a moment, afraid to make any abrupt move.

  “Lacey?” he whispered just as she swayed toward him.

  He swept her limp body into his arms, stunned by the emotional turmoil holding her caused him. Her long braid swung free, and he swore he could feel its brush against his knee down to his bone. With her head flung back over his arm, her arched throat was bare, and before he could stop himself, his lips brushed the tiny pulse beating there.

  He lifted his head slowly, the scent of her filling him with every drawn breath. He had denied that she was a woman this morning, but it was not coy perfume that he breathed, but the essence of Lacey herself. Once again his lips rested against the delicate skin of her throat, his arms tightening as he cradled her close and headed for the door.

  As he stepped out into the courtyard with his burden, Curt shot him a murderous look and ran to his side. “What the hell have you done to her?” he demanded.

  “Where’s her room?” Rafe asked, his gaze seeking the judge, a curt nod acknowledging his silently mouthed question.

  “Give her to me, Parrish. It looks as if you’ve done enough.”

  “Get out of my way and show me her room. You’d better get that woman of hers to help.”

  One look at Lacey’s ashen face, and Curt decided not to argue. He missed the flash of annoyance that Rafe wore as Curt went directly to Lacey’s room, calling out for Maggie to come quickly as he stepped out of Rafe’s way.

  Rafe lowered her limp body onto the colorful counterpane covering her bed. He was angry with Curt’s unerring knowledge of where her room was and his own reluctance to leave her. A quick glance around the room showed it to be starkly empty of feminine frills.

  “Maggie’s coming,” Curt announced, standing at his side. “What did you tell Lacey?”

  “The truth. Something her lawyer should’ve done.”

  Curt found himself stepping back from the cold glare in Parrish’s eyes. He was suddenly aware that his height brought him level with the bridge of Rafe Parrish’s straight, thin nose.

  Maggie pushed the judge out of the way, coming into the room like a fury. “Land sakes! Get out! Both of you. Go on, right now.” She barely glanced at the two men. All her attention was for Lacey. “It’s all right, Maggie’s here.”

  “Get out, Parrish. You’ve done enough,” Curt ordered, grabbing his arm.

  Rafe pulled free, his scowl forcing the judge to intervene.

  “Curt, that’s unnecessary. We must talk since Lacey’s in no condition to hear the rest. ’Sides, I can’t spend the rest of the afternoon here.”

  Rafe waited until Curt joined the judge before he crossed back to the office, ignoring Judge Walker’s demand that he wait. By the time he had tossed off two quick drinks and realized that this was whiskey to savor, Curt came into the room.

  “Pour one for me, Parrish.”

  Rafe thought about disregarding his order, for it was that and not a request, before he turned. Beneath hooded lids his eyes appraised Curt’s slick-heeled, dandified appearance. Instinct warned him there was more to this man than surface impression. Rafe sipped his drink, savoring the smoothest-aged whiskey he had ever tasted, and then poured half a glass for Curt. His survival had depended upon gut feelings and wits; Curt was branded enemy.

  “Where’s the judge?”

  “He had to leave,” Curt answered, moving toward the desk, where he sat on the corner.

  “Look, Blaine, I know my showing up like this today shocked you and Lacey. It wasn’t my idea. But you saw those papers he has, you know it’s true. Did he give you the letter from Garrett to Lacey?”

  Curt didn’t answer immediately. He studied Rafe with a thoughtful look, sipped his drink, and then set it aside.

  “I find it hard to believe that Sy Garrett didn’t take me into his confidence. I’ve been handling all his legal matters for the past four years. Perhaps we both started off wrong. You must understand that my only interest is in protecting Lacey.”

  “And you figure I’ll hurt her? I don’t even know her.”

  “You’ve presented a threat to her ownership of the Reina—that’s enough for Lacey.”

  “You aren’t holding out hope that she’ll work with me. Why? It can’t be easy for her. Men won’t work for a woman.”

 
; “The Reina hands do. They respect Lacey, Parrish. She has earned the right to boss them.”

  “Well, it’s not right for a woman to act like a man.”

  Curt smiled, surprised to find himself agreeing with Rafe Parrish about anything. “No, but there you have it. Sy raised her to run the Reina, and she won’t give over easy.” Curt toyed with the glass a moment before he asked, “Where was it exactly that Judge Walker found you? I still don’t understand how he became aware of your relationship with Sy.”

  “He claims that Garrett’s been looking for me a long time.” Rafe shrugged. “I was in Zaragoza, north—”

  “…of Morelos,” Curt finished for him, pausing when he saw Rafe tense. No, he was mistaken, for Parrish was refilling his glass, raising it in silent toast before he drained it. “Better go easy with that, Parrish. It’s smooth, but it kicks as hard as the bellywash you’re most likely accustomed to drinking.”

  Rafe glanced down at his empty glass. He grinned, but there was no warmth or humor in it. “You think so? Well, that’s a mite friendly kind of warning.”

  “I certainly hope we can be friends. It would be best for you and me to work out whatever differences we have until this matter with the Reina is resolved.”

  Friends? Rafe thought about what the word meant. Not that he knew, not really—he had called no man friend.

  “So, finish telling me how the judge met you,” Curt prompted, wondering what thoughts filled the man’s mind. He was deep, no betraying emotions showed on his features, his moves all smooth, and Curt found himself growing nervous. Running his finger around the stiff edge of his starched linen collar, he knew he would call upon all his skills before Rafe Parrish betrayed a weakness he could use.

  “Let’s just say we had some, er … acquaintances in common and leave it go at that.” His answer was truthful enough, although evasive, but it accomplished what he wanted. Curt relaxed, proving that he knew exactly where the judge had found him. “I guess that’s what took him so long to find me,” Rafe added. “I moved around a lot.”