Against the Rules (21 page)

“Cat,” he murmured into her hair, feeling the way she lay against him. She didn't answer. A sigh of raw frustration escaped him as he realized that she was asleep; then he curved her slender body more tightly against him and pressed a kiss into the tumble of dark red hair that streamed across his shoulder.

When Cathryn woke several hours later, roused by a pain in her arm caused by the fact that she had been resting all her weight on it, Rule was asleep. Cautiously she raised her head and studied him, seeing how pale and tired he looked, even in sleep. Their lovemaking had been sweet and urgent, but he hadn't really been well enough. She eased away from him and stood up, massaging her arm to restore circulation to it. A thousand tiny pins pricked her skin and she hugged the arm to her until the worst of it had passed; then she silently pulled on her dress and picked up the remainder of her clothing, slipping out before he woke.

She was tired. Those few hours of sleep hadn't been nearly enough, but she showered and dressed for the day's chores. Lorna smiled at her when she entered the kitchen. “I thought you'd give it a rest today,” she clucked.

“Did Rule ever give it a rest?” asked Cathryn wryly.

“Rule's a lot stronger than you are. We'll get by; the ranch is too well run to fall apart in a couple of weeks. How about waffles for breakfast? I've already got the batter mixed.”

“That'll be fine,” Cathryn replied, pouring a cup of coffee for herself. She leaned against the cabinet and sipped it, feeling the weariness weighing her limbs down like lead weights.

“Mr. Morris has called twice already,” Lorna said casually, and Cathryn's head jerked up. She had almost spilled her coffee and she set the cup down.

“I don't like that man!” she said fretfully. “Why doesn't he leave me alone?”

“Does that mean you're not going to sell the ranch to him?”

Nothing was private, Cathryn realized, rubbing her forehead absently. No doubt everyone on the ranch knew that Mr. Morris had offered to buy the ranch. And no doubt everyone also knew whose bed she had woken up in that morning! It was like living in a fishbowl.

“In a way I'm tempted,” she sighed. “But then again...”

Lorna deftly poured the batter into the waffle iron. “I don't know what Rule would do if you sold the ranch. He couldn't work for Mr. Morris, I don't think. So much of his life is tied up with this place.”

Cathryn felt every muscle in her body tense at Lorna's words. She knew that. She had always known it. She might own the Bar D, but she was only a figurehead. It belonged to Rule, and he belonged to it, and that was far more important than what was recorded on any deed. He had paid for it in his own way, with his time and sweat and blood. If she sold it he would hate her.

“I can't think,” she said tensely. “There are so many things pulling me in different directions.”

“Then don't do anything,” Lorna advised. “At least until things have settled down some. You're under a lot of pressure right now. Just wait a while; in three weeks your outlook could be completely different.”

Lorna's common-sense advice was only what Cathryn had told herself many times, and she realized all over again that it really was sensible. She sat down and ate her waffle, and surprisingly the few minutes of quiet made her feel better.

“Cat!”

The low, compelling call wafted down from upstairs and immediately she was tense again. Lord, she was almost terrified at the thought of talking to him! It doesn't make sense, she told herself sternly. She had just slept in his arms; why should she dread talking to him so much?

Because she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to prevent herself from throwing herself in his arms and promising to do anything he asked, that was why! If he asked her to marry him again she'd probably melt against him like an idiot and agree without thinking, completely disregarding the fact that he had never said anything about
love,
only about his plans.

“Cat!” This time she thought she could discern a tautness in his voice and she found herself on her feet, automatically responding to it.

When she opened his door he was lying with his eyes closed, his lips pale. “I knew it was too soon!” she cried softly, placing a cool hand on his forehead. His dark eyes opened and he gave her a tight smile.

“It seems you're right,” he grunted. “God, my head feels like it's going to explode! Fill up the icepack, okay?”

“I'll bring it right up,” she promised, smoothing his hair with her fingertips. “Do you feel like eating anything?”

“Not just yet. Something cool to drink will do fine, and turn on the air-conditioner.” As she turned away to do his bidding, he said evenly, “Cat...”

She turned back to him and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. He said, “About Glenn Lacey...”

She flushed. “I told you, he's just a friend. There's nothing between us, and I won't be going out with him again.”

“I know. I realized that last night when I saw that you were wearing a bra.”

He was looking at her from beneath half-closed lids, stripping her, and the flush on her cheeks grew hotter. She didn't need him to finish the thought, but he did anyway. “If you had been with me, you wouldn't have been wearing a bra, would you?” he asked huskily.

Her voice was weak as she admitted huskily, “No.”

Again the corners of his mouth moved in a little smile. “I didn't think so. Go get that drink for me, honey. I'm not in any shape for provocative conversation right now.”

She couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped her lips as she left the room. How like him to put her on the defensive, then reveal that he had attacked with nothing more dangerous in his armory than a smile and a sensual remark. He was more than she could handle, and abruptly she realized that she didn't
want
to handle him. He was his own man, not something to be controlled. Nor did he really try to handle her. Sometimes she felt, oddly, that he was a little wary of her, but he didn't usually tell her if she could or couldn't do something. Except in the case of Glenn Lacey, she thought, smiling. And even then she had done as she had wanted. In her case, her red hair was a signal of stubbornness as well as temper.

Rule didn't feel well enough to start any deep conversations, for which she was grateful. She tended to him and got him settled after he had downed a glass of iced tea; with an icepack easing his headache, he lay quietly and watched her as she straightened the room. “Lewis told me about the other night,” he murmured. “He said that you helped Andalusia by yourself. Did you have any trouble?”

“No, the mare knew just what to do.”

“She's a good little mother,” he said sleepily. “It was too bad about the other foal. We had a set of twins survive a few years ago, but it was a chancy thing. The smaller foal never did catch up to its twin in size or strength, but she was a sweet little horse. She was so small that I was afraid it would kill her if I tried breeding her to any of the other horses, so I sold her to a family who wanted a gentle horse for their kids.”

Cathryn felt guilty for not checking on the other mare's well-being, and she said hesitantly, “Did...has Lewis said anything about Sable? How she's doing?”

“She's fine. Have you seen the foal?”

“Not since she was born. She's a strong little thing, tall and frisky. She was on her feet almost right away.”

“Her sire is Irish Gale. Looks like he's turning out fast fillies instead of colts. Too bad about that; most fillies can't run with the boys, even when they're fast.”

“What about Ruffian?” demanded Cathryn, indignant on behalf of the fillies. “And a filly won the Derby not so many years ago, smarty.”

“Sweetheart, even in the Olympics the women don't run with the men, and the same goes for horses...except in special, isolated cases,” he conceded. His eyes slowly closed, and he muttered, “I need to get up. There's a lot to be done.”

She started to assure him that everything was under control but realized that he had slipped into a light doze, and she didn't want to disturb him. She had noticed that sleep was the best remedy for his headaches. Let him rest while he still would. Soon, probably too soon, he would be forcing his body to do his bidding. That was the first time in days that he had mentioned getting up, but she knew it wouldn't be the last.

When she stepped outside, the heat slammed into her like a blow to the body. It probably wasn't any hotter than it had been before, but in her fatigue she felt it more intensely. It wasn't just the scorching rays of the sun. It was the heat that rose in shimmering waves from the earth and slapped her in the face. It had been this hot that July when Rule had—Forget about that, she told herself sternly. She had work to do. She had shirked her duty yesterday, and today she was determined to make up for it.

She stopped in at the foaling barn to check on the two new mothers and their foals. Floyd assured her that Sable was in good condition after her ordeal, then invited her to help him anytime he had a mare in foal. Cathryn looked at him doubtfully and he laughed.

“You did just fine with Andalusia, Miss Cathryn,” he assured her.

“Andalusia did just fine,” she corrected, laughing. “By the way, do you know what direction Lewis went in this morning?”

Floyd frowned, thinking. “I'm not sure, but I think it was Lewis I saw with Ricky this morning, tearing across the pasture in the truck.” He pointed due east to where she knew the small herd of cattle was grazing.

If Ricky was in the truck, it probably was Lewis in there with her, Cathryn thought shrewdly with her new knowledge of their relationship. She was torn between relief that Ricky had evidently transferred her attentions away from Rule and sympathy for Lewis. Didn't he realize that Ricky was nothing but trouble?

Suddenly she was riveted by a shout that curdled the blood in her veins. She stood frozen, staring at Floyd, and on his face she saw mirrored the same horror.

“Fire! In the stables!”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, suddenly released from her spell, whirling on the spot and starting for the door at a dead run. Floyd was right beside her, his face pale. Fire in the stables! It was one of the worst things that could happen on a ranch. The animals panicked and often resisted any efforts to rescue them, resulting in tragedy. And as she ran the agonized thought surfaced that if Rule heard the commotion he would force himself out of bed and do any amount of damage to his health by trying to assist them.

“Fire!”

“Oh, God, be quiet!” she yelled. The ranch hand looked startled; then he saw her glance at the house and he appeared to understand. Heavy black smoke was drifting almost lazily out the open doors, and she could hear the frightened whinnies of the horses, but she couldn't see any flames.

“Here!” Someone slapped a wet towel across her face and she dashed into the murky interior, coughing even through the towel as the acrid smoke sifted into her lungs. She couldn't feel any heat, though, but now wasn't the time to look for any flames; the horses came first.

The frightened animals were rearing in their stalls and kicking at the wood that held them. Cathryn fumbled for a door and opened it, squinting through the smoke at the horse and recognizing it as Redman, Rule's favorite. “Easy, easy,” she crooned, taking a deep breath and whipping the towel away from her face to drape it over the horse's eyes. He calmed down enough to let her lead him swiftly out of the stable into the fresh air. Behind her, other horses were being led out in a quick, remarkably quiet operation. Willing hands helped settle the animals down.

The fire was caught while it was still smoldering. Luckily it hadn't gotten into the hay or the entire stable would have gone up in minutes. A young man whom Rule had hired only two months before discovered the source of the smoke in the tack room, where a fire had started in a trash can and spread to the saddle blankets and leather. The tack was ruined, the room blackened and scorched, but everyone breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn't been any worse than it was.

Astonishingly, Rule seemed to have been undisturbed by the commotion. Probably the whirr of the air-conditioner had masked the noise. Cathryn sighed, knowing that she would have to tell him, and knowing that he would be enraged. A fire in the stables was something that wouldn't have happened if he had been in charge. Knowing that the boss was out of commission, someone had gotten careless with a match or a cigarette, and only luck had prevented things from being much worse. As it was, a great deal of tack would have to be replaced. She had tried so hard to take up the slack, and then something like this had to happen.

Lorna's comforting arm slipped around her drooping shoulders. “Come on back to the house, Cathryn. You could use a good hot bath. You're black from head to foot.”

Looking down, Cathryn saw that her crisp clothing, donned only a short time earlier, was now grimy with soot. She could feel the ash on her face and in her hair.

The feeling that she had let Rule down grew stronger as she stood under the shower. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he would say when she told him.

He had turned on the small radio by his bed, and that had kept him from being disturbed. He looked at her when she opened the door and his eyes narrowed at the strained expression on her face. He took in her wet hair and different clothing and set his jaw.

“What happened?” he ground out.

“There was a...a fire in the tack room,” she stammered, coming a hesitant step closer. “It didn't spread,” she assured him quickly, seeing the black horror that spread across his face. “The horses are all fine. It's just the...the tack room. We lost just about everything in there.”

“Why wasn't I told?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“I—it was my decision. There was nothing you could do. We got the horses out first and—”