When Erin left Ty Wade so long ago, she’d vowed never to return. Because of him she’d wrecked her car, her career, and lost his baby. Once a famous model clad in silk and lace, Erin could hardly face the task of mending the tattered pieces of her life. And now Ty wanted her back. Without her, jobs would be lost. The future of the Staghorn Ranch depended on her return. Erin cared deeply for the devoted staff of his ranch. But how could she face the man she most hated—the man with a heart of stone and a will as tough as rawhide?

Also by Diana Palmer

Man of the Hour

Trilby

Lawman

Lacy

Heart of Winter

Outsider

Night Fever

Before Sunrise

Lawless

Diamond Spur

Desperado

The Texas Ranger

Lord of the Desert

The Cowboy and the Lady

Most Wanted

Fit for a King

Paper Rose

Rage of Passion

Once in Paris

After the Music

Roomful of Roses

Champagne Girl

Passion Flower

Diamond Girl

Friends and Lovers

Cattleman’s Choice

Lady Love

The Rawhide Man

Her Kind of Hero

Rawhide and Lace

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

The hospital emergency room was full of people, but the tall man never saw the crying children and listless adults who covered the waiting area. He was disheveled, because he’d dragged on jeans and the first shirt that had come to hand and hadn’t taken time to shave or even comb his thick, straight black hair.

He stopped at the clerk’s desk, his expression enough to get her immediate attention. He looked rough and not in the mood for red tape—his face cold and hard, and very nearly homely.

“Yes, sir?” she asked politely.

“The sheriff’s office said my brother was brought here. His name is Bruce Wade,” he said, with barely controlled impatience, his voice deep and cutting, his silver eyes piercing and level.

“He was taken to surgery,” the clerk said after a minute. “Dr. Lawson admitted him. Just a moment, please.”

She picked up the phone, pressed a button and mumbled something.

Tyson Wade paced the small corridor restlessly, his shepherd’s coat making him look even taller than he was, the creamy softness of his Stetson a direct contrast to a face that looked like leather and sharp rock. Things had been so normal just minutes before. He’d been working on the books, thinking about selling off some culls from among his purebred Santa Gertrudis breeding herd, when the phone had rung. And all of a sudden, his life had changed. Bruce had to be all right. Ty had waited too long to make peace with the younger brother he hardly knew, but surely there was still time. There had to be time!

A green-uniformed man walked into the waiting area, removing his mask and cap as he walked toward the taller man.

“Mr. Wade?” he asked politely.

Ty moved forward quickly. “How’s my brother?” he asked brusquely.

The doctor started to speak. Then he turned, drawing Ty down the white corridor and into a small unoccupied examination room.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said then, gently. “There was too much internal damage. We lost him.”

Ty didn’t flinch. He’d had years of practice at hiding pain, at keeping his deeper feelings under control. A man who looked like he did couldn’t afford the luxury of letting them show. He just stood there, unmoving, studying the doctor’s round face while he tried to cope with the knowledge that he’d never see his brother again; that he was totally alone now. He had no one. “Was it quick?” he asked finally.

The doctor nodded. “He was unconscious when he was admitted. He never came out of it.”

“There was another car involved,” Ty said, almost as an afterthought. “Was anyone else badly hurt?”

Dr. Lawson smiled with faint irony. “No. The other car was one of those old gas-guzzlers. It was hardly dented. Your brother was driving a small sports car, a convertible. When it rolled, he didn’t have a chance.”

Ty had tried to talk Bruce out of that car, but to no avail. Any kind of advice was unwelcome if it came from big brother. That was one of the by-products of their parents’ divorce. Bruce had been raised by their mother, Ty by their father. And the difference in the upbringings was striking, even to outsiders.

The doctor had paused long enough to produce Bruce’s personal effects. The soiled clothing was there, along with a handful of change, some keys, and a clip of hundred-dollar bills. Ty looked at them blankly before stuffing them back into the sack.

“What a hell of a waste,” Ty said quietly. “He was twenty-eight.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save him,” Dr. Lawson repeated softly, sincerely.

Ty nodded, lost in bitter memories and regret. “He couldn’t even save himself. Fast cars, fast women, alcohol…They said he wasn’t legally drunk.” His silver-gray eyes met and held the doctor’s in a level gaze.

Dr. Lawson nodded.

“He usually drank far too much,” Ty said, staring at the sack. “I tried so damned hard to talk him out of that convertible.” He sighed heavily. “I talked until I was blue.”

“If you’re a religious man, Mr. Wade, I can tell you that I still believe in acts of God. This was one.”

Ty searched the other man’s eyes. After a minute, he nodded. “Thanks.”

It was misting rain outside, cold for Texas in November, but he hardly felt it. All that rushing around, he thought blankly, and for what? To get there too late. All his life, where Bruce was concerned, he’d been too late.

It seemed so unreal to think of Bruce as dead. He and Bruce had been a lot alike in looks, at least. Both were dark and light-eyed, except that Bruce’s eyes had been more blue than gray. He’d been six years younger than Ty and shorter, more adventurous, more petted. Bruce had been spoiled with easy living and an abundance of attention from their mother. Ty had been raised by their rancher father, a cold, practical, no-nonsense man who looked upon women as a weakness and brought Ty up to feel the same way. Ironically, it was Erin who’d finally separated Bruce from Ty and the ranch.

Erin. His eyes closed briefly as he pictured her, laughing, running to him, her hair long and black and straight, her elfin face bright with joy, her green eyes twinkling, laughing, as her full, soft lips smiled up at him. He groaned.

He leaned his tall, elegant body against the Lincoln as he lit a cigarette. The flare of the match accentuated his high cheekbones, his aquiline nose, the jut of his chin. There was nothing in his face that a woman would find attractive, and he knew it. He had no illusions about his looks. Perhaps that was why he’d attacked Erin on sight, he reflected. She’d been a model when Bruce met her in nearby San Antonio and brought her home for a weekend visit. Young but already well-known, Erin was destined for greater things. That first day, she’d walked into the Wade house with her elfin face excited and friendly, and Ty had stood like stone in the long hallway and glared at her until the vividness of her expression had faded into uncertainty and, then, disappointment.

She’d been so beautiful. A living illusion. All his secret dreams of perfection rolled into one flawless, willowy body and exquisitely sculpted face. Then Bruce had put his arm around her and looked at her with unashamed worship, and Ty had felt himself growing cold inside. She’d been Bruce’s from the very beginning, a prize he’d brought home to big brother, to fling in his arrogant face.

He took a long draw from the cigarette and stared at its amber tip in the misting rain. How long ago it all seemed! But all of it had taken place in just a year’s time. The first meeting, the long weekends when Erin came to the ranch and slept in the guest room in order to observe “the proprieties.” Conchita, the housekeeper, had taken to Erin immediately, fussing and bustling over her like a mother hen. And Erin had loved it. Her father was dead, her mother constantly flying off to somewhere in Europe. In many ways, Ty thought, her life had been as unloving and cold as his own.

He took another draw from his cigarette and blew out a thick cloud of smoke, his silvery eyes narrowing with memory as he stared sightlessly at the deserted parking lot. He’d antagonized Erin from the start, picking at her, deliberately making her as uncomfortable as possible. She’d taken that smoldering dislike at face value until one dark, cold night when Bruce had been called out on urgent business. Erin and Ty had been alone in the house, and he’d antagonized her one time too many.

He vividly remembered the look in her green eyes when, after she’d slapped him, he’d jerked her into his hard arms and kissed the breath out of her. Her lips had been like red berries, soft and slightly swollen, her eyes wide and soft and dazed. And to his astonishment, instead of slapping him again, she’d reached up to him, her mouth ardent and sweet, her body clinging like ivy to the strength of his.

It had been like a dream sequence. Her mouth, dark, soft wine under his hard lips; her body, welcoming. Soft cushions on the floor in front of the fireplace, her hushed, ragged breathing as he’d bared her breasts and touched them, her shocked cry as he’d touched her intimately and begun to undress her. But she hadn’t stopped him; she hadn’t even tried. He remembered her voice in his ear, whispering endearments, her hands tenderly caressing his nape as he’d moved her under him.

He ground his teeth together. He hadn’t known, hadn’t guessed, that she was a virgin. He’d never forget the tormented sound of her voice, the wide-eyed fear that had met his puzzled downward glance. He’d tried to stop, so shocked that he wasn’t even thinking…but she’d held him. No, she’d whispered, it was too late to stop now, the damage was already done. And he’d gone on. He’d been so careful then, so careful not to hurt her any more than he already had. But he’d given her no pleasure. He knew, even though she’d tried not to let him see her disappointment. And before he could try again, could even begin to show her any real tenderness, they’d heard Bruce’s car coming up the long driveway. Then, with reality, had come all the doubts, all the hidden fears. And he’d laughed, taunting her with her easy surrender. Get out, he’d said coldly, or Bruce was going to get an earful. He’d watched her dragging her clothing around her, white-faced, shaking. He’d watched her leave the room with tears streaming from her eyes. Like a nightmare, the pain had only gotten worse. But he’d had too much pride to back down, to apologize, to explain what he’d felt and why he’d lied to her about his motives. And early the next morning, she’d left.

Bruce had hated him for that. He’d guessed what had happened, and he’d followed Erin to wring the truth from her. A day later he’d moved out, to live with a friend in San Antonio. Erin had gone on to a career in New York; her face had haunted him from the covers of slick magazines for several weeks.

That night haunted him, too. It had been all of heaven to have her. And then, all at once, he’d realized that she might see his lack of control for what it was; that she might realize he was vulnerable with her and take advantage of it. God forgive him, he’d even thought she might have planned it that way. And she was so beautiful; too beautiful to care about an ugly man, a man so inexperienced at making love. His father’s lectures returned with a vengeance, and he’d convinced himself in a space of seconds that he’d been had. She was Bruce’s, not his. He could never have her. So it was just as well that he’d let her go out of his life….

Bruce had gotten even, just before he’d left the house for good. He’d told Ty that Erin had hated what Ty had done to her, that his “fumbling attempts at lovemaking” had sickened her. Then he’d walked out triumphantly, leaving Ty so sick and humiliated that he’d finished off a bottle of tequila and spent two days in a stupor.

Erin had come back to the ranch two months later, and it had been Ty she’d wanted to talk to, not Bruce. He’d been coming out of the stables leading a brood mare, and she’d driven up in a little sports car, much like the one Bruce would die in almost six months later….

* * *

“I have to talk to you,” she said in her soft, clear voice. Her eyes were soft, too; full of secrets.

“What do we have to talk about?” Ty replied, his own tone uncompromising, careless.

“If you’ll just listen…” she said, looking at him with an odd kind of pleading in her green eyes.

Against his will, he was drawn to her as she poised there in a green print dress that clung lovingly to every soft line of her high-breasted body, the wind whipping her long black hair around her like a shawl. He forced himself to speak coldly, mockingly.

“Aren’t you a vision, baby doll?” His eyes traveled pointedly over her body. “How many men have you had since you left here?”

She flinched. “No…no one,” she faltered, as if she hadn’t expected the attack. “There hasn’t been anyone except you.”

He threw back his head and laughed, his eyes as cold as silver in a face like stone. “That’s a good one. Just don’t set your sights on Bruce,” he warned softly. “Maybe my plan backfired, but I can still stop him from marrying you. I don’t want someone like you in my family. My God, you’ve got a mother who makes a professional streetwalker look like a virgin, and your father was little more than a con man who died in prison! It’d make me sick to have to introduce you into our circle of friends.”

Her face paled, her eyes lost their softness. “I can’t help what my people were,” she said quietly. “But you’ve got to listen to me! That night…”

“What about it?” he demanded, his voice faintly bored. “I’d planned to seduce you and then tell Bruce, but you left without forcing my hand. So, no harm done.” To avoid looking at her, he bent his head to light a cigarette. Then he glanced up, his eyes narrowed and ugly. “You were just a one-night stand, honey. And one night was enough.”

That brought her to tears, and he felt a pain like a knife going into his gut despite the fact that he was justified in that lie. She’d told it all to Bruce, hadn’t she? “What a sacrifice it must have been for you,” she whispered in anguish. “I must have been a terrible disappointment.”

“I’ll amen that,” he told her. “You were a total failure, weren’t you? Why did you come down here, anyway? Bruce doesn’t come here anymore, and don’t pretend you don’t know it.”

“I’m not looking for Bruce,” she burst out. “Oh, Ty, I haven’t seen him since I left here! It’s you I came to see. There’s something I’ve got to tell you…!”

“I’ve got livestock to look after,” he said indifferently, dismissing her. “Get out of here. Go model a gown or something.”

Her eyes grew dull then; something died in them. She looked at him for a long, quiet moment, almost said something else; then, as if defeated, turned away.

“Just a minute,” he called after her.

She’d turned, an expression of hope on her face. “Yes?”

He smiled down at her mockingly, forcing himself not to weaken, not to let her get the best of him. “If you came to see me because you wanted another roll in the hay, I’ll let the cattle wait for a few minutes,” he offered. “Maybe you’ve improved since the last time.”

Her eyes closed, her face contorted as if in pain. “How could you, Tyson?” she whispered, then opened her eyes to reveal an anguish so profound that Ty was forced to look away. But the agony in her voice pierced his soul. “How could you? Oh, God, you don’t know how much I…!”

Almost. He almost abandoned his lacerated pride and went to her. His feet even started to move. But suddenly, she whirled and ran to her car, gunned it to life and raced frantically down the long drive, sending the small convertible sliding on the gravel as she shot it out onto the paved road. He watched the car until it was out of sight, feeling empty and cold and lonely….

* * *

That was the last time he’d seen Erin Scott. And now Bruce was dead. He wondered if she’d still been seeing his brother. Bruce hadn’t mentioned her. Of course, he’d hardly spoken to Ty in all those months. That had hurt, too. Lately, just about everything did.

He crushed out the cigarette. There were funeral arrangements to make. He thought about the roommate Bruce had moved in with and wondered if he knew. He got into the car and went directly to the apartment. It might help to talk to someone who knew Bruce, who could tell him if Bruce had ever forgiven him for driving Erin away. It was very nearly a need for absolution, but Tyson Wade would never have admitted it. Not even to himself.

Chapter Two

Bruce’s roommate was a rather shy accountant, a nice man without complexities and as pleasant as Bruce had always been. He was drinking heavily when Ty entered the apartment.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam Harris said with genuine feeling, raking back his sandy-blond hair. “I heard it on television just a few minutes ago. God, I’m so sorry. He was a great guy.”

“Yes,” Ty said quietly. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around the small apartment. There was nothing to indicate that Bruce had ever lived there except a large photograph of Erin in a swimsuit pose beside one of the twin beds. Ty felt himself stiffening at the sight of it.

“Poor old guy,” Sam said wearily, sinking down onto the sofa with a shot glass in his hands. “He worshiped that girl, but she never even let him get close.” He nodded toward the bed. “There’s a whole box of letters she sent back last week under there.”

Ty’s heart froze. “Letters?”

“Sure.” Sam pulled them out. There were dozens, all from Bruce, all addressed to Erin. All unopened. And there was one letter, from her, to Bruce. It was very recent. And opened.

“He went crazy when he read that last one,” Sam told him. “Just hog wild. I never had the nerve to sneak a look at it. And he changed after that. Raged about you, Mr. Wade,” he added apologetically. “He changed his will, made all kinds of threats…. I almost called you, but I figured it really wasn’t any of my business. And you know how Bruce got when he thought someone had sold him out. He was my pal, after all.”

Ty stared at the letters in his hand, feeling sick all over.

“There are some things of his in the drawers, too.” Sam gestured aimlessly, then sat down again. “I keep looking for him, you know,” he murmured absently. “I keep thinking, any minute he’ll open the door and walk in.”

“If you’ll pack his things, when you get a chance,” Ty said quietly, “I’ll send for them.”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to. I’d like to come to the funeral,” he added.

Ty nodded. “You can serve as a pallbearer if you like,” he said. “It’ll be at the First Presbyterian Church, day after tomorrow. There aren’t any living relatives, except me.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Sam repeated hollowly.

Ty hesitated, then shrugged his broad shoulders. “So am I. Good night.”

Just like that. He walked out, clutching the box of letters in his hands, more apprehensive than he’d ever been in his life. Part of him was afraid of what might be in them.

Two hours later, he was sitting in his pine-paneled den at Staghorn with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a much used glass in the other. His eyes were cold and bitter, and he was numb with the pain of discovery.

The letters Bruce had written to Erin were full of unrequited love, brimming with passion and proposals of marriage and plans that all included her. Each was more ardent than the one before. And in every one was at least one sentence about Ty and how much he hated her.

Those were bad enough. But the letter Erin had sent to Bruce tore at his heart.

“Dearest Bruce,” she’d written in a fine, delicate, hand, “I am returning all your letters, in hopes that they will make you realize that I can’t give you what you want from me. You’re a fine man, and any woman would be lucky to marry you. But I can’t love you, Bruce. I never have, and I never can. Even if things were different between us, any sort of relationship would be impossible because of your brother.” His heart leaped and then froze as he read on: “Even though the fault was partially mine, I can’t forget or forgive what’s happened to me. I’ve been through two surgeries now, one to put a steel rod in my crushed pelvis, the other to remove it. I walk with a cane, and I’m scarred. Perhaps the emotional scars are even worse, since I lost the baby in the wreck, too….”

The baby! Ty’s eyes closed and his body shook with anguish. He couldn’t finish the letter. She’d left Staghorn hell-bent for leather, and she’d wrecked the car. Her pelvis had been crushed. She’d lost the baby she was carrying, she’d been hospitalized, she’d even lost her career. All because of him. Because Bruce had told him a lie, and he’d believed it. And now Bruce was dead, and Erin was crippled and bitter, hating him. Blaming him. And he blamed himself, too. He hurt as he’d never hurt in his life.

And now he knew why she’d come to see him. She’d been carrying his child. She was going to tell him. But he hadn’t let her. He’d humiliated her into leaving. And because of him, she’d lost everything.

The baby would haunt him all his life, he knew. He’d never had anyone of his own, anything to love or protect or take care of. Except Bruce. And Bruce had been too old for that kind of babying. Ty had wanted someone to spoil, someone to give things to and look after. And he’d tried to make Bruce into the child he himself would never have. But there had been a child. And obviously Erin had planned to keep it. His child. He remembered now, too late, the hopeful look in her eyes, the softness of her expression when she’d said, “I have something to tell you….”

His hand opened, letting the letter drop to the floor. He poured out another measure of whiskey and downed some of it quickly, feeling a tightness in his chest that would not, he knew, be eased by liquor.

He stared helplessly at the whiskey bottle for a long time. Then he got slowly to his feet, still staring at it, his face contorted with grief and rage. And he flung it at the fireplace with the full strength of his long, muscular arm, watched as it shattered against the bricks, watched the flames hit the alcohol and shoot up into the blackened chimney.

“Erin,” he whispered brokenly. “Oh, God, Erin, forgive me!”

The sudden opening of the door startled him. He didn’t turn, mindful of the glaze over his eyes, the fixed rigidity of his face.

“Yes?” he demanded coldly.

“Señor Ty, are you all right?” Conchita asked gently.

His shoulders shifted. “Yes.”

“Can I bring you something to eat?”

He shook his head. “Tell José I need five pallbearers,” he said. “Bruce’s roommate asked to be one already.”

“Si, señor. You have talked with the minister?”

“I did that when I came home.”

“Are you sure that I cannot bring you something?” the middle-aged Spanish woman asked softly.

“Absolution,” he said, his voice ghostly, haunted. “Only that.”

* * *

It was three days before Ty began to surface from his emotional torment. The funeral was held in the cold rain, with only the men and Bruce’s roommate to mourn him. Ty had thought about contacting Erin, but if she’d just been released from the hospital, she wouldn’t be in any condition to come to a funeral. He wanted to call her, to talk with her. But he didn’t want to hurt her anymore. His voice would bring back too many memories, open too many wounds. She’d never believe how much he regretted what he’d done. She probably wouldn’t even listen. So what was the use of upsetting her?

He went into town after the funeral to see Ed Johnson, the family’s attorney. With the strain between himself and his brother, Ty expected that Bruce had tried to keep him from inheriting his share of Staghorn—an assumption that proved to be all too true.

Ed was pushing fifty and balding, with a warm personality and a keen wit. He rose as Ty entered his office and held out his hand.

“I saw you at the funeral,” he said solemnly, “but I didn’t want to intrude. I figured you’d be in to see me.”

Ty took off his cream-colored Stetson and sat down, crossing his long legs. He looked elegant in his blue pinstriped suit, every inch the cattle king. His silver eyes pinned the attorney as he waited silently for the older man to speak.

“Bruce has changed his will three times in the past year,” Ed began. “Once, he tried to borrow money on the estate for some get-rich-quick scheme. He was so changeable. And after last week, I feared for his sanity.”

Last week. Just after he’d received Erin’s letter. Poor boy, Ty thought. He closed his eyes and sighed. “He cut me out of his will, obviously,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Got it in one,” Ed replied. “He left everything he had to a woman with a New York address. I think it’s that model he was dating a few months back,” he mumbled, missing Ty’s shocked expression. “Yes, here it is. Miss Erin Scott. His entire holdings. With the provision,” he added, lifting his eyes to Ty’s white face, “that she come and live on the ranch. If she doesn’t meet that condition, every penny of his holdings goes to Ward Jessup.”

Ward Jessup! Ty’s breath caught in his throat. He and Ward Jessup were long-standing enemies. Jessup’s ranch, which adjoined Staghorn, was littered with oil rigs, and the man made no secret of the fact that he wanted to extend his oil search to the portion of Staghorn closest to his land. Although Ty had been adamant about not selling, Jessup had made several attempts to persuade Bruce to sell to him. And now, if Erin refused to come, he’d have his way—he’d have half of Staghorn. What a priceless piece of revenge, Ty thought absently. Because Bruce knew how much Erin hated Ty—that she’d rather die than share a roof with Tyson Wade—he’d made sure big brother would never inherit.

“That’s the end of it, I guess,” Ty said gently.

“I don’t understand.” Ed stared at him over his glasses.

“Bruce had a letter from her last week,” the younger man said, his voice level, quiet. “She was in a wreck some time ago. She’s been crippled, and she lost the child she was carrying. I’m responsible.”

“Was it Bruce’s child?”

Ty met the curious stare levelly. “No. It was mine.”

Ed cleared his throat. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am,” he said, and got up. “Thanks for your time, Ed.”

“Wait a minute,” the attorney said. “You aren’t just giving up half your ranch, for God’s sake? Not after you’ve worked most of your life to build it into what it is?”

Ty stared at him. “Erin hates me. I can’t imagine that she’d be charitable enough to want to help me, not after the way I’ve treated her. She has more reason than Bruce to want revenge. And I don’t have much heart for a fight, not even to save Staghorn. One way or another, it’s been a hell of a week.” He jammed his Stetson down over his hair, his eyes lifeless. “If she wants to cut my throat, I’m going to let her. My God, that’s the least I owe her!”

Ed watched him leave, frowning. That didn’t sound like the Tyson Wade he knew. Something had changed him, perhaps losing his brother. The old Ty would have fought with his last breath to save the homestead. Ed shook his head and picked up the phone.

“Jennie, get me Erin Scott in New York,” he told his secretary, and gave her the number. Seconds later a pleasant, ladylike voice came on the line.

“Yes?”

“Miss Scott?” he asked.

“I’m Erin Scott.”

“I’m Edward Johnson in Ravine, Texas…the attorney for the Wade family,” he clarified.

“I haven’t asked for restitution—”

“It’s about a totally different matter, Miss Scott,” he interrupted. “You knew my client, Bruce Wade?”

There was a long pause. “Bruce…has something happened to him?”

“He was in an automobile accident three days ago, Miss Scott. I’m sorry to have to tell you that it was fatal.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “Oh. I’m very sorry, Mr….?”

“Johnson. Ed Johnson. I’m calling to inform you that he named you his beneficiary.”

“Beneficiary?”

She sounded stunned. He supposed she was. “Miss Scott, you inherit a substantial amount of cash in the bequest, as well as part ownership of the Staghorn ranch.”

“I can’t believe he did that,” she murmured. “I can’t believe it! What about his brother?”

“I don’t quite understand the situation, I admit, but the will is ironclad. You inherit. With a small proviso, that is,” he added reluctantly.

“What proviso?”

“That you live on the ranch.”

“Never!” she spat.

So Ty was right. He leaned back in his chair. “I expected that reaction,” he told her. “But you’d better hear the rest of it…. Miss Scott?”

“I’m still here.” Her voice was shaking.

“If you don’t meet that provision,” he said, his voice steady, even a little impatient, “your half of the ranch will go to Ward Jessup.”

There was a long silence. “That’s Ty’s…Mr. Wade’s…neighbor,” she recalled.

“That’s right. And, I might add, something of an adversary. He only wants the oil rights to Staghorn, you know. He’d sell off the stock. The ranch couldn’t survive with what would be left. There are several families whose sole support is Staghorn—a blacksmith, several cowhands, a veterinarian, a storekeeper, a mechanic—”

“I…know how big the place is,” Erin said quietly. “Some of those people have worked for the Wades for three generations.”

“That’s correct.” He was amazed that she knew so much about Staghorn.

“I need time to think,” she said after a pause. “I’ve just come out of the hospital, Mr. Johnson. It’s very difficult for me to walk at all. A trip of that kind would be extremely hard on me.”

“Mr. Wade has a private plane,” he reminded her.

“I don’t know…”

“The terms of the will are very explicit,” he said. “And they require immediate action. I’m sorry. I need an answer today.”

There was another long pause. “Tell Mr. Wade…I’ll come.”

Ed had to force himself not to grin.

“There’s just one thing,” she said hesitantly. “How long must I stay there?”

“No particular length of time was specified,” he told her. “That leaves it to the interpretation of the people involved. And believe me, Mr. Jessup will interpret it to mean until you die.”

“I’ve heard that he’s quite ruthless.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I can be ready tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Johnson.”

She sounded tired, and in pain. He felt guilty for pressing her, but he knew it couldn’t have waited.

“I’ll pass that information along. Meanwhile, Miss Scott, I’ll get the necessary paperwork done. You’re quite a wealthy young woman now.”

“Quite wealthy,” she repeated dully, and hung up.

She was sitting on a sofa that swayed almost to the floor, in a ground-floor apartment in Queens. The water was mostly cold, the heating worked only occasionally. She was wrapped in a thick old coat to keep warm, and no one who’d known her six months ago would recognize her.

Why had she agreed to go? she wondered miserably. She was in pain already, and all she’d done today was go back and forth to the bathroom. Her leg was giving her hell. They’d showed her the exercises, stressing that she must do them twice a day, religiously, or she’d never lose her limp. A limping model was not exactly employable, she reminded herself. But there seemed so little point in it all now. She’d lost everything. She had no future to look forward to, nothing to live for. Nothing except revenge. And even that left a bad taste in her mouth.

She couldn’t see those people out of work, she thought. Not in winter, which November practically was. She couldn’t stand by and leave them homeless and jobless because of her.

She stretched out her leg, grimacing as the muscles protested. Exercises indeed! It was hard enough to walk, let alone do lifts and such. Her eyes were drawn to the window. Outside, it was raining. She wondered if it was raining in Ravine, Texas, and what Tyson Wade was doing right now. Would he be cursing her for all he was worth? Probably. He’d been sure that she’d never set foot on Staghorn again, after the things he’d said to her. He wouldn’t know about the accident, of course, or the baby. She felt her eyes go cold. If only she could hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her. If only!

She could stay here, of course. She could change her mind, refuse the conditions of the inheritance. Sure. And she could fly, too. All those people, some of them with children, all out in the cold…

She lay back down on the sofa and closed her eyes. There would be time enough to worry about it later. Now, she only wanted to sleep and forget.

* * *

Ty. She was running toward him, her arms outstretched, and he was laughing, waiting for her. He lifted her up against him and kissed her with aching tenderness. He stared down at her, his eyes filled with love. She was pregnant, very pregnant, and he was touching the mound of her belly, his hands possessive, his eyes adoring….

She awoke with tears in her eyes. Always it was the same dream, with the same ending. Always she woke crying. She got up and washed her face, looking at the clock. Bedtime already. She’d slept for hours. She pulled on a cotton gown and went to bed, taking a sleeping pill before she lay down. Perhaps this time, she wouldn’t dream.

By early the next afternoon, she was packed and waiting for whomever Tyson sent to get her. Her once elegant suitcase was sitting by the door, filled with her meager wardrobe. She was wearing a simple beige knit suit that would have fit her six months ago. Now it hung on her, making her look almost skeletal. Her lusterless hair was tied in a bun, her face devoid of makeup. In her right hand was a heavy cane, dangling beside the leg that still refused to support her.

At two o’clock precisely, there came a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called from the sofa, only vaguely curious about which poor soul Ty would have sacrificed to come and fly her down to Texas.

She got the shock of her life when the door opened to admit Tyson Wade himself.

He stopped dead in the doorway and stared at her as she got unsteadily to her feet, leaning heavily on the cane. The impact of his handiwork was damning.

He remembered a laughing young girl. Here was an old, tired woman with green eyes that held no life at all, no gaiety…only a resigned kind of pain. She was pitifully thin, and her face was pale and drawn. She stared at him as if he were a stranger, and perhaps he was. Perhaps he always had been, because he’d never really let her get close enough to know him in any way but one.

“Hello, Erin,” he said quietly.

She inclined her head. “Hello, Tyson,” she said.

He looked around him with obvious distaste, his silver eyes reflecting his feelings about her surroundings.

“I haven’t been able to work for several months,” she informed him. “I’ve been drawing a disability pension and eating thanks to food stamps.”

His eyes closed briefly; when they opened, they were vaguely haunted. “You won’t have to live on food stamps now,” he said, his voice rough.

“Obviously not, according to your family attorney.” She smiled faintly. “I imagined you screaming at the top of your lungs for an hour, trying to find a way to break the will.”

He studied her wan, sad little face. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Lead on. You’ll have to allow for my leg. I don’t move so quickly these days.”

He watched her come toward him, every movement careful and obviously painful.

“Oh, my God,” he said tightly.

Her eyes flared at him. “Don’t pity me,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare!”

His chin lifted as he took a long, slow breath. “How bad is it?” he asked.

She stopped just in front of him. “I’ll make it,” she said coldly.

He only nodded. He turned to open the door, holding it as she brushed against him. She smelled of roses, and as he caught the scent in his nostrils, he struggled to suppress memories that were scarcely bearable.

“Erin,” he said huskily as she went past him.

But she didn’t answer him, she didn’t look at him. She moved painfully down the hall and out the open door to the street. She didn’t even look back.

After a minute, he picked up her suitcase, locked the door, and followed her.

Chapter Three

It was all Ty could do to keep silent as he and Erin rode to the airport. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, to explain, to discuss. He wanted to apologize, but that was impossible for him. Odd, he thought, how much heartache pride had caused him over the years. He’d never learned to bend. His father had taught him that a man never could, and still call himself a man.

He lit a cigarette and smoked it silently, only half aware of Erin’s quiet scrutiny as he weaved easily through the frantic city traffic. His nerve never wavered. Texas or New York, he was at home in a car even in the roughest traffic.

“Nothing bothers you, does it?” she asked carelessly.

“Don’t you believe it,” he replied. He glanced at her, his eyes steady and curious as he waited at a traffic light.

“Six months,” she murmured, her voice as devoid of feeling as the green eyes that seemed to look right through him. “So much can happen in just six months.”

Ty averted his eyes. “Yes.” He studied the traffic light intently. It was easier than seeing that closed, unfeeling look on her face, and knowing that he was responsible for it. Once, she’d have run toward him laughing….

She turned the cane in her hands, feeling its coolness. Ty seemed different somehow. Less arrogant, less callous. Perhaps his brother’s death had caused that change, although he and Bruce had never been close. She wondered if he blamed her for his estrangement from Bruce, if he knew how insanely jealous Bruce had been of her, and without any cause at all.

He watched her toying with the cane as he pulled back into the flow of traffic and crossed the bridge that would take them to the airport. “How long will you have to use that thing?” he asked conversationally.

“I don’t know.” She did know. They’d told her. If she didn’t do the exercises religiously, she’d be using it for the rest of her life. But what did that matter now? She could never go back to modeling. And nothing else seemed to be worth the effort.

“I didn’t expect you to agree to the stipulation in Bruce’s will,” he said suddenly.

“No, I don’t imagine you did.” She glared at him. “What’s the matter, cattle baron, did you expect that I’d sit on my pride and let your whole crew lose their jobs on my account?”

So that was why. It had nothing to do with any remaining feeling for him; it was to help someone less fortunate. He should have known.

“You look surprised,” she observed.

“Not really.” He pulled into the rental car lot at the airport and stopped the car, then turned toward her. “You were always generous—” his silver eyes held hers relentlessly “—in every way.”

Her face colored, and she jerked her eyes away. She couldn’t bear to remember…that!

“It wasn’t an insult,” he said quickly. “Don’t…don’t make it personal.”

She laughed through stinging tears, a young animal at bay, glaring at him from the corner of her seat. “Personal! Don’t make it personal? Look at me, damn you!” she cried.

His hand reached toward her, or seemed to, and suddenly retracted, along with any show of emotion that might have softened the hard lines of his face. He stared at his smoking cigarette, took a last draw with damnably steady fingers, and put it out carefully in the ashtray.

“I’ve been looking,” he said quietly, lifting his eyes. “Every second since I’ve been with you. Would you like to know what I see?”

“How about a burned-out shell; does that cover it?” she said defiantly.

“You’ve given up, haven’t you?” he said. “You’ve stopped living, you’ve stopped working, you’ve stopped caring.”

“I have a right!”

“You have every right,” he agreed shortly. “I’d be the first to agree with that. But for God’s sake, woman, look what you’re doing to yourself! Do you want to end up a cripple?”

“I am a cripple!”

“Only in your mind,” he replied, his voice deliberately sharp. “You’ve convinced yourself that your life is over; that you can come down to Staghorn and draw into some kind of shell and just exist while everyone else prospers. But you’re wrong, lady. Because that’s something you’ll never do. I’m going to make you start living again. You’re going to pick up the pieces and start over. I’ll see to it.”

“Like hell you will, Tyson Almighty Wade!”

“If you come back with me, you can count on it,” he replied. He put a long hard arm over the back of the seat, and his silver eyes glittered at her, challenging, taunting. “Come on, Erin. Tell me to take my money and go to hell. Tell me to give Ward Jessup your half of the spread and put all those workers on unemployment.”

She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to! But it was more than her conscience could bear. She glared at him out of a white face in its frame of soft dark hair, her green eyes alive now, burning in anger. “I hate you!” she cried.

“I know,” he replied. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t blame you for that. You have the right. I’d never have asked you to come back.”

“No, not you.” She smiled coldly. “But if I hadn’t, you’d probably have come rushing up here to kidnap me and take me back by force.”

He shook his head. “Not now. Not after what’s happened.” He let his eyes wander slowly over her frail body.

She eyed him warily. “Mr. Johnson told you about the wreck, I suppose?”

He looked down at the cane. “I read your last letter to Bruce,” he said in a voice that was deep and quiet…and frankly haunted.

Her spirit broke at his tone. She could take anything from him except tenderness. Guilt. His. Hers. Bruce’s. And none of it any use. A tortured sob burst from her throat. She tried to stifle it but couldn’t.

His eyes lifted, holding hers. “I wish I could tell you how I felt when I knew,” he said hesitantly. “The things I said to you that day…”

She swallowed, slowly gaining control of herself. “You…you meant them,” she replied. “Reliving them isn’t going to do any good now. You saved Bruce from me. That’s all you cared about.”

“No!” he said huskily. “No, that’s wrong.”

He started to reach toward her, and she backed away until the door stopped her.

“Don’t you touch me,” she said in a high, strangled voice. “Don’t you ever touch me again. If you do, I’ll walk out the door, and you and your outfit can all go to hell!”

His face closed up. It was the first time he’d ever reached out toward her, and her rejection hurt. But he struggled against familiar feelings of wounded pride, struggled to understand things from her side. He’d hurt her brutally. It was going to take time, a lot of it, before she’d begin to trust him. Well, he had time. Right now, that and the hope that she might someday stop hating him were all he had.

“Okay,” he said, his voice steady, almost tender. “Want something to eat before we get on the plane?”

She shifted restlessly, staring at him, eyes huge in her thin face. “I…didn’t have lunch,” she faltered.

“We’ll get a sandwich, then.” He got out and went around to open her door. But he didn’t offer to help her. He watched her put the cane down and lean on it heavily. “How long has it been since they took out the rod?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t realized he knew so much about her condition. “A couple of weeks,” she told him.

“Were you taking physical therapy?”

She avoided his probing look. “I could use some coffee.”

“Therapy,” he persisted, “is the only way you’ll ever walk without a cane. Did they tell you that?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve…!” She glared up at him.

“I busted my hip on the rodeo circuit when I was twenty-four,” he told her flatly. “It was months before I stopped limping, and physical therapy was the only thing that saved me from a stiff leg. I remember the exercises to this day, and how they’re done, and how long for each day. So I’ll help you get into the routine.”

“I’ll help you into the hospital if you try it,” she threatened.

“Spunky,” he approved, nodding. He even smiled a little. “You always were. I liked that about you, from the very beginning.”

“You liked nothing about me,” she reminded him. “You hated me on sight, and from there it was all downhill.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, watching her curiously. “I thought women had instincts about men and their reactions.”

“As you found out the hard way, I knew very little about men. Then.”

He didn’t look away. “And as you found out, the hard way, I knew very little about women.”

She flinched, just a little, then searched that gray fog in his eyes, wondering what he meant. It sounded like a confession of sorts, but it just didn’t jibe with the picture Bruce had painted of him—a womanizer with a reputation as long as her arm.

“Pull the other one,” she said finally. “You’ve probably forgotten more about women than I’ll ever know. Bruce said you had.”

His jaw tensed. “Bruce said one hell of a lot, didn’t he? I heard what you thought of my ‘fumbling,’ too.”

She stiffened and froze. “What?”

“He said you thought I was a clumsy, fumbling fool. That you described it all to him, and laughed together about it….”

Her lips parted, and her face went stark white. “He told you…he said that…to you?”

“Erin!” He leaped forward just in time to catch her as she collapsed. He lifted her, feeling the pitiful weight of her in his arms, feeling alive for the first time in months. He held her close, bending his head over hers, drowning in the bittersweet anguish of holding her while all around them traffic moved routinely and tourists milled indifferently on the sidewalks.

“Baby,” he whispered softly, cradling her in his hard arms as he dropped into the passenger seat of the car and looked down at her. He smoothed the hair from her face, caressing her pale cheek with a trembling hand. “Erin.”

Her eyes opened a minute later. She blinked, and for an instant—for one staggering second—her eyes were unguarded and full of memories. And then it was like watching a curtain come down. The instant she recognized him, all the life went out of her face.

“You fainted,” he said gently.

She stared up at him dizzily, feeling his warmth and strength, catching the scent of leather that clung to him like the spicy after-shave he favored.

“Ty,” she whispered.

His heart stopped and then raced, and his body made a sudden and shocking statement about its immediate needs. He shifted her quickly, careful not to let her know how vulnerable he was.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “I feel a little shaky, that’s all.”

He touched her hair, on fire with the sweetness of her being near, loving the smell of roses that clung to her, the warmth of her soft body against his.

“Bruce didn’t say that to you—” she shook her head “—he couldn’t have!” There were tears in her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to. Here, are you all right now?”

She sighed heavily. It was a lie. A lie. She’d never said any such thing to Bruce. She looked up into watchful gray eyes and tried to speak, but she was lost in the sudden electricity that arced between them.

“Your eyes always reminded me of green velvet,” he said absently, searching them. “Soft and rippling in the light, full of hidden softness and warmth.”

Her breath was trapped somewhere, and she couldn’t seem to free it. Her eyes wandered over his homely face, seeing the new lines, the angles and craggy roughness, the strength.

“You won’t find beauty even if you look hard,” he said in a tone that was almost but not quite amused.

“You were so different from Bruce,” she whispered. “Always so different. Remote and alone and invulnerable.”

“Except for one long night,” he agreed, watching the color return to her cheeks. “Will you at least believe that I regret what I did to you? That if I could take it all back, I would?”

“Looking back won’t change anything,” she said wearily, and closed her eyes. “Oh, Ty, it won’t change anything at all.”

“I’m sorry…about the baby we made,” he said hesitantly, his voice husky with emotion.

She looked up at him, startled by his tone. She saw something there, something elusive. “You would have wanted it,” she said with sudden insight.

He nodded. “If I’d known, I’d never have let you go.”

It was the way he said it, with such aching feeling. She realized that he meant it. Perhaps he’d wanted a family of his own, perhaps there had been a woman he’d wanted and couldn’t have. Maybe he’d thought about having children of his own and taking care of them. He wasn’t anything to look at; that was a fact. But he might have been vulnerable once. He might have been capable of love and tenderness and warmth. A hundred years ago, judging by the walls he’d raised around himself.

She looked away and struggled to get up. He let her go instantly, helping her to her feet, steadying her with hands that were unexpectedly gentle. Guilt, she thought, glancing at him. He was capable of that, at least. But guilt was one thing she didn’t want from him. Or pity.

“I’m all right now,” she said, easing away from him. The closeness of his body had affected her in ways she didn’t want to remember. She’d given herself to him that night with such eager abandon. With joy. Because she’d loved him desperately, and she’d thought that he loved her. But it had only been a lie, a trick. Could she ever forget that?

“It’s all right,” he said gently, oblivious to the curious stares of passersby, who found it oddly evocative to see the thin, crippled young woman being comforted by the tall, strong man.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered wearily. “So tired.”

He could see that. Thinking about all she’d been through made him feel curiously protective. He touched her hair in a hesitant gesture. “You’ll be all right,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything now.” He straightened. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

It wasn’t home, but she was too exhausted to struggle with him. She only wanted a place to rest and a little peace. So much had happened to her that she felt like a victim of delayed shock. She couldn’t cope just yet with the memories or the future. She wanted to close her eyes and forget that either even existed.

Ty took her arm to lead her toward the tarmac, and she followed him without protest.

That simple action hit him so hard that his face would have shocked her, had she been able to see it. Erin had always been a fighter, a little firecracker. He’d admired her spirit even as he’d searched for ways to beat it out of her. And now, to see her this way, to know that she was defeated…was profoundly disturbing. She’d been crippled, had lost the baby he’d given her, and he knew that she could never forgive him. He wondered if he could forgive himself. He only knew that he was going to see to it that she left Staghorn whole again, no matter what it took. He was going to give her life back to her, regardless of the cost. He was going to make her well enough to walk away from him.

And he hadn’t realized until that moment that it was going to hurt like hell.

* * *

The plane was a big twin-engine Cessna, a pretty bird built for comfort and speed. There was more than enough room for Erin to sit or stretch out in the passenger space, but she wanted to see where she was going.

“Could I sit up front with you?” she asked.

It was the first bit of enthusiasm she’d shown since he’d found her at the apartment. “Of course,” he replied. He ushered her into the seat beside his and helped her with the seat belt and the earphones.

She watched, fascinated, as he readied the big plane for takeoff and called the tower for permission to taxi. She’d never flown in his private plane before, although Bruce had invited her once. Ty had objected at the time, finding some reason why she couldn’t go with them. He’d never wanted her along. He’d never wanted her near him at all.

He flew with a minimum of conversation, intent on the controls and instrument readings. He asked her once if she was comfortable enough, and that was the only thing he said all the way back to Staghorn.

The ranch was just as Erin remembered it—big and sprawling and like a small town unto itself. The house was a creamy yellow Spanish stucco with a red roof, graceful arches and cacti landscaping all around it. Nearby were the ultramodern stables and corrals and an embryo transplant center second to none in the area. Ty’s genius for keeping up with new techniques, his willingness to entertain new methods of production, were responsible for the ranch’s amazing climb from a small holding to an empire. It wasn’t really surprising that he was so good with figures, though. He was geared to business, to making money. He was good at it because it was his life. He enjoyed the challenge of business in ways he’d never been able to enjoy anything else. Especially personal relationships.

Erin was fascinated by how little the ranch had changed since she’d seen it last. In her world, people came and went. But in Ty’s there was consistency. Security. At Staghorn, very little changed. The household staff, of course, was the same. Conchita and her husband, José, were still looking after the señor, keeping everything in exquisite order both inside and out. They were middle-aged, and their parents had worked for el grande señor, Ty’s father, Norman.

Conchita was tall and elegant, very thin, with snapping dark eyes that held the most mischievous twinkle despite the gray that salted her thick black hair. José was just her height, with the same elegant darkness, but his hair had already gone silver. Rumor had it that Señor Norman himself had turned it silver with his temper. José was unfailingly good-natured, and such a good hand with horses that Ty frequently let him work with the horse wrangler.

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.

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