Against The Rules

“Sorry about that,” Rule muttered. “Here’s the liniment.”

She reached out for the bottle of clear liquid and saw his eyes drop to the unbuttoned neckline of her dress. In instantaneous reaction she felt her breasts tighten and grow heated in that bitter, uncontrolled response she had to him. She drew a ragged, protesting breath, and his eyes lifted slowly to her face. His pupils were dilated, his skin taut as he sensed, like a wild animal, the way it was with her. For a moment she thought that he was going to heed the primal call; then, with a stifled curse, he shoved the bottle into her hand.

“I can wait,” he said, and left as abruptly as he had entered.

Cathryn felt as if her legs were going to collapse beneath her and she moved to the bed, sinking gratefully onto the white chenille bedspread. If that wasn’t a close call, she didn’t know what was!

After carefully rubbing her legs and buttocks with the pungent liniment, she put on her nightgown and crawled stiffly into bed, but despite her weariness she was unable to sleep. Everything that had been said that day drifted through her tired mind with maddening persistence.

Rule. Everything came back to him. Cathryn thought she knew enough about men in general, and Rule in particular, to recognize passion, and Rule did nothing to hide his arousal when he kissed her. But Rule was a complicated man, and she didn’t feel that he was motivated solely by simple lust. He was like an iceberg only allowing a small bit to show. He kept most of himself submerged, hidden from view, and she could only guess at his motives. Was it the ranch? Was Ricky right after all in her assessment? Was he trying to make the ranch legally his by marrying the owner?

She drew her thoughts up sharply. Married! What made her think that Rule would ever consider marriage? She was beginning to understand that he could control her easily enough by other means, and the realization was sharply humiliating. Unless he did want the ranch legally...? He was a man with a dark past; who could guess at the importance of the ranch to him? She could well imagine that to him it represented his salvation, both physically and emotionally.

Whatever happened, she didn’t want to let herself become embroiled with him. And whatever his motive, she was certain that she wouldn’t be able to shield herself from harm. She was so frighteningly vulnerable to him....

CHAPTER 3

Cathryn had intended to get up early, but her intentions weren’t strong enough to do the job and it was after ten when she rolled over groggily and pushed her hair out of her face to peer at the clock. She yawned and stretched, cutting the motion short with a wince of pain. Easing gingerly out of the bed, she decided that she wasn’t as sore as she had feared she would be, but she was still sore enough. As Rule would have been out of the house for hours by now, she felt safely able to have that hot bath, and she gathered up her clothes, then beat a path to the bathroom.

An hour later she felt considerably better, though still stiff. She rubbed the liniment into her muscles again, then decided to ignore the pain. Despite the night’s uncomfortable beginning, the long sleep had completely refreshed her and her dark eyes were sparkling, her cheeks delicately pink. Her hair was pulled back on each side with a matching pair of tortoiseshell combs, giving her the look of a teenager. For a moment as she looked in the mirror she had a disturbing sense of looking into the past, as if the reflection she saw was that of the young girl she had been on a hot summer day, gleefully planning on a ride to the river. Had she smiled that way? she wondered as her lips curved in a faint smile of secret anticipation. Anticipation of what?

She studied the face in the mirror, searching for an answer. The delicate features revealed nothing; she saw only the elusive smile, a certain mystery in the dark eyes. Her coloring was unusual, inherited directly from her father; dark fire in her hair, a shade neither red nor brown but with the sheen of mahogany; dark eyes, not as dark as Rule’s, but a soft deep brown. Her skin, thankfully, had no freckles. She could tan lightly, but had never been able to acquire a deep tan. What else was there? What else would attract a man’s attention? Her nose was straight and dainty, but not classical. Her mouth looked vulnerable, sensitive; her facial bones were delicate, finely drawn. Fairly tall, slender and long-legged, with narrow hips, a slim waist and rather nice, round breasts. She didn’t have voluptuous curves, but she did have the long, clean lines of good breeding and a certain grace of movement. Rule had compared her to a long-legged filly. And Rule had always wanted a red-haired woman.

No great beauty, the young woman in the mirror, but passable.

Passable enough to hold Rule Jackson’s interest?

Stop it! she told herself fiercely, turning away from the mirror. She didn’t want to hold his interest! She couldn’t handle him and she knew it. If she had any sense at all she’d take herself back to Chicago, continue her rather boring job and forget the nagging, incessant ache for the home where she had grown up. But this was her home, and perhaps she didn’t have any sense. She knew every plank in this old house, had never forgotten anything about it, and she wanted to stay there.

She went downstairs to the kitchen. Lorna turned from the stove as she entered and gave her a friendly smile. “Have a good sleep?”

“Marvelous,” Cathryn sighed. “I haven’t slept this late in years.”

“Rule said you were worn out,” said Lorna comfortably. “You’ve lost some weight, too, since your last visit. Are you ready for breakfast?”

“It’s almost lunchtime, so I think I’ll wait. Where is everyone?”

“Monica is still asleep; Ricky went out with the men today.”

Cathryn lifted her eyebrows questioningly, and Lorna shrugged. She was a big-boned woman in her late forties or early fifties, her brown hair showing no trace of gray, and her pleasantly unremarkable features revealed only contentment with her life. Acceptance was in her eyes as she said slowly, “Ricky’s having a rough time right now.”

“In what way?” Cathryn asked. It was true that Ricky seemed even more highly strung than before, as if she were only barely under control.

Again Lorna shrugged. “I expect she woke up one day and realized that she doesn’t have what she wanted, and she panicked. What has she done with her life? Wasted it. She has no husband, no children, nothing of any importance that she can say belongs to her. The only thing she’s ever really had is her looks, and they haven’t gotten her the man she wanted.”

“She’s been married twice,” said Cathryn.

“But not to Rule.”

Shocked, Cathryn sat silently, trying to follow Lorna’s reasoning. Rule? And Ricky? Ricky had always alternated wildly between rebelling against Rule and following him with slavish devotion, while Rule had always treated her with stoic tolerance. Was that the basis for Ricky’s sudden outbreak of hostility? Was that why she didn’t want Cathryn to stay? Once again Cathryn had the uneasy thought that somehow Ricky knew that Rule had made love to her when she was seventeen. It was impossible, but yet...

It was all impossible. Ricky couldn’t be in love with Rule. Cathryn had known what it was to love, and she could see none of the signs in Ricky, no gentling, no caring. Her reactions to Rule were a mixture of fear and hostility that bordered on actual hate; that, too, Cathryn understood all too well. How many years had she stayed away because of those same feelings?

Agitated, she felt a sudden, powerful need to be alone for a while, so she said, “Does Wallace’s Drugstore still stay open on Sundays?”

Lorna nodded. “Are you thinking of driving into town?”

“If no one else needs the car, I will.”

“Nobody that I know of, and even if they did there’s other means of going,” Lorna said practically. “Would you mind picking up a few things?”

“I’ll be glad to,” Cathryn replied. “But to be on the safe side, write everything down. No matter how careful I try to be, I always forget one item unless I have a list, and it’s usually the most-needed thing that I forget.”

With a chuckle Lorna pulled open a drawer and extracted a notepad from which she tore the top sheet. She handed it to Cathryn. “It’s already done. I’m guilty of the same thing, so I always write things down as I think of them. Let me get some money from Rule’s desk.”

“No, I have enough,” Cathryn protested, looking at the list of items. It was mostly first-aid things such as alcohol and bandages, nothing very expensive. Besides, anything bought for the ranch was her responsibility.

“All right, but keep the sales receipt. Taxes.”

Cathryn nodded. “Do you know where the keys to the station wagon are?”

“Usually in the ignition, unless Rule took them out this morning to keep Ricky from disappearing as she sometimes does. If he did, then they’ll be in his pocket, but since Ricky went with them he wouldn’t have had any reason for taking the keys.”

Cathryn made a face at that information and went upstairs to get her purse. Was Ricky so bad that it was necessary to hide the car keys from her? And what if someone else needed the car? But then, Lorna and Monica would make arrangements beforehand if they needed the car, and in any medical emergency Rule could be located quickly enough. The plane would be faster than a car anyway.

She was in luck. The keys were still dangling from the ignition. She opened the door and slid behind the wheel, looking forward to her little trip.

The station wagon wasn’t a new model and it had a rather battered appearance, but the engine caught immediately and hummed with steady precision. Like everything else on the ranch, it was kept in good mechanical condition, another indication of Rule’s excellent management. There was no way she could fault him on that score.

She felt pride in the way the ranch looked as she drove down the dusty road that led to the highway. It wasn’t a huge ranch or a rich one, though it had done well enough. She knew that Rule had brought new life into it with his horses, though it had been a comfortable place before that. But now the land had the well-tended look that only devotion and hard work could bring.

The town was small, but Cathryn supposed it had everything required by civilization. It was as familiar to her as her own face, never changing much despite the passage of time. San Antonio was the nearest large city, almost eighty miles distant, but to someone used to Texas distances, that didn’t seem like a long trip. No one felt denied by the undemanding tenor of life in Uvalde County.

Probably the last scandal in memory was the last one Rule had figured in, Cathryn thought absently as she parked the station wagon against the curb, joining the lineup of dusty pickups and assorted cars. She could hear the jukebox inside, and a smile lit her face as memories washed over her. How many Sunday afternoons had she spent here as a teenager? The pharmacy was located in the back of the building. The front was occupied by a booming hamburger business. Red-topped stools lined the counter and several booths marched down the opposite wall, while a few small tables were scattered about the remaining space. The stools and booths were crowded, while the tables remained empty, always the last to be filled. A quick glance around told her that the majority of the customers were teenagers, just as it had always been, though there were enough adults on hand to keep youthful enthusiasms under control.

She went back to the pharmacy and began gathering the items on Lorna’s list, wanting to do that first; then she intended to reward herself with a huge milk shake. The pile in her arms kept growing and became unmanageable; she looked around for a shopping basket and her gaze was met by a young woman her own age who was studying her curiously.

“Cathryn? Cathryn Donahue?” the woman asked hesitantly.

As soon as she spoke Cathryn placed her voice. “Wanda Gifford!”

“Wanda Wallace now. I married Rick Wallace.”

Cathryn remembered him. He was the son of the owner of the drugstore and a year or so older than she and Wanda. “And I’m Cathryn Ashe.”

“Yes. I heard about your husband’s death. I’m sorry, Cathryn.”

Cathryn murmured an acknowledgement of the polite phrase as Wanda moved to take some of the precariously balanced things out of her arms, then swiftly changed the subject, still feeling unable to discuss David’s death calmly. “Do you have any children?”

“Two, and that’s enough. Both boys, and both monsters.” Wanda smiled wryly. “Rick asked me if I wanted to try for a girl next time, and I told him that if there was a next time we’d have a parting of the ways. Good Lord, what if I had another boy?” But in spite of her words she was laughing, and Cathryn had a moment of gentle envy. She and David had discussed having children, but put it off in favor of a few years alone; then they had learned of David’s illness and he had refused to burden her with a child to raise alone. She didn’t understand how he could have imagined that his child would ever be a burden to her, but she had always thought that making a baby should be a mutual decision, so she hadn’t pressured him. He had been under enough pressure, knowing that his life was slipping away.

Wanda led the way to the nearest table and dumped everything onto the shiny surface. “Have a seat and let me buy you a soft drink to welcome you home. Rule told us that you’re home to stay this time.”

Slowly Cathryn sank into an empty chair. “When did he say that?” she asked, wondering if she looked as cornered as she felt.

“Two weeks ago. He said you’d be home for Memorial Day weekend.” Wanda went behind the counter to get two glasses brimming with ice and fill them with fountain cola from the machine installed there.

So Rule had let it be known two weeks ago that she was coming home to stay? Cathryn mused. That was when she had called to let Monica know that she was coming home for a visit. Just like that, Rule had decided that she’d stay this time and had spread the news. Wouldn’t he be surprised when she got on that plane tomorrow?

“Here you go,” said Wanda, sliding the frosted glass in front of her.

Cathryn leaned over to take an appreciative sip of the strong, icy drink, sharp as only fountain cola could be. “Rule’s changed a lot over the years,” she murmured, not certain just why she said it, but wanting for some reason to hear someone else’s opinion of him. Perhaps he wasn’t out of the ordinary; perhaps it was her own perception of him that was at fault.

“In some ways he has, in some he hasn’t,” said Wanda. “He’s not wild anymore, but you get the feeling he’s just as dangerous as he always was. He’s more controlled now. But the way most folks think about him has changed. Rule knows ranching and he’s a fair boss. He’s president of the Local C.A., you know. Of course, to some people he’ll always be as wild as a mink.”

Cathryn managed to hide her surprise at that information. In some parts of the West, the Cattlemen’s Association was the inner circle of the elite; in other parts, such as here, it was a working group of not-so-big ranchers who tried to help each other. Still, she was stunned that Rule had been elected president, because he wasn’t even a ranch owner. That, more than anything, was a measure of his move from scandalousness to respectability.

She gossiped with Wanda for the better part of an hour and noticed that Ricky’s name wasn’t mentioned at all, an indication of how completely Ricky had alienated the local people. Had Wanda been on friendly terms with the other young woman, she would have asked after her, even if it had been only a day or two since she had seen her.

Cathryn finally noticed the time and began gathering up the items she had scattered over the table. Wanda helped her manage them and walked with her back to the cash register, where her father-in-law checked Cathryn out. “We still have a dance every Saturday night,” Wanda said, her friendly eyes smiling. “Why don’t you come next time? Rule will bring you if you don’t feel like coming on your own, but there’s plenty of men who’d like to see you walk in without an escort, especially without Rule.”

Cathryn laughed, remembering the Saturday night dances that were such an integral part of the county social life. Most of the marriages and at least a few of the pregnancies of the last fifteen years had gotten their start at the Saturday night dances. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ll think about it, though I don’t think Rule would thank you for volunteering him for escort duty.”

“Try him!” was Wanda’s laughing advice.

“No, thanks,” muttered Cathryn to herself as she left the coolness of the pharmacy and the heat of the cloudless Texas day hit her in the face. She had no intention of being there for the next dance, anyway. She’d be on that plane in less than twenty-four hours, and by the next Saturday she would be safe in her Chicago apartment, away from the dangers and temptations of Rule Jackson.

She opened the car door and dropped her purchases onto the seat, but stood for a moment allowing the interior of the car to cool somewhat before she got in.

“Cathryn! By God, I thought it was you! Heard you were back!”

She turned curiously and a grin widened her mouth as a tall, lanky man with white hair and sun-browned skin loped along the sidewalk to reach her. “Mr. Vernon! It’s nice to see you again!”

Paul Vernon reached her and enfolded her in a hug that lifted her off the ground. He had been her father’s best friend, and she had carried on the tradition with his son, Kyle. To Paul Vernon’s disappointment the friendship between the two had never matured into romance; but he had always had a soft spot in his heart for Cathryn and she returned the affection, in some ways liking the older man more than she had Kyle.

He replaced her on the ground and turned to beckon another man forward. Cathryn knew him at once as a newcomer, even though she had been away for years. The man who removed his hat politely and nodded at her wasn’t dressed in quite the manner a local would have dressed. His jeans were a little too new; his hat wasn’t a hat that had been on the range.

Mr. Vernon’s introduction confirmed her guess. “Cathryn, this is Ira Morris. He’s in the region looking at some livestock and horses; he owns a spread in Kansas. Ira, this is Cathryn Donahue...sorry, but I can’t remember your married name. Cathryn is from the Bar D.”

“Bar D?” asked Mr. Morris. “Isn’t that Rule Jackson’s spread?”

“That’s right; you’ll have to see him if it’s horses you want. He’s got the best quarter-horse farm in the state.”

Mr. Morris was impatient. He barely contained his restlessness when Paul Vernon seemed content to linger and chat for a while. Cathryn was in sympathy with his impatience, because she was burning with fury and it was taking a great deal of self-control to hide it from Mr. Vernon. At last he said goodbye and admonished her to come visit soon. She promised to do so and quickly got into the car before he could continue the conversation.

She started the car and slammed it into gear with violent temper; not in years had she been so consumed with white-hot rage. The last time had been that day by the river, but there wouldn’t be the same ending this time. She wasn’t a naive teenager who hadn’t any idea of how to control a man or handle her own desires now. She was a woman, and he had encroached on her home territory. Rule Jackson’s spread, indeed! Was that how people thought of the Bar D now? Maybe Rule thought it was his, too; maybe he considered himself so much in control that there was no way she could dislodge him. If so, he’d find out soon that she was a Donahue of the Bar D and a Jackson just didn’t belong!

The first wave of anger had passed by the time she reached the ranch, but her resolve hadn’t faded. First she took her purchases in to Lorna, knowing that the woman would have seen her arrival from the kitchen window. That guess was proved correct when she opened the door and saw Lorna standing at the sink while she peeled potatoes, looking out the window so as not to miss any activity in the yard. Cathryn placed the paper bag on the table and said, “Here are the things. Have you seen Rule?”

“He came in for lunch,” said Lorna placidly. “But he could be anywhere now. Someone in the stables should be able to tell you where he’s gone.”

“Thanks,” said Cathryn, and retraced her steps, moving with her free-swinging stride to the stables, her feet kicking up tiny clouds of dust with every step.

The cool dimness of the stable was a welcome change from the bright sun, the smell of horses and ammonia as familiar as ever. She squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the dimness, and made out two figures several stalls down. In a few seconds she recognized Rule, though the other man was a stranger.

Before she could speak Rule held out his hand. “Here’s the boss lady,” he said, still with his hand held out to her, and she was so surprised by his words that she stepped into reach of that hand and it curved around her waist, drawing her close to his heat and strength. “Cat, meet Lewis Stovall, the foreman. I don’t think you’ve been here since he was hired. Lewis, this is Cathryn Donahue.”

Lewis Stovall merely nodded and touched his hat, but his silence wasn’t prompted by shyness. His face was as hard and watchful as Rule’s, his eyes narrowed and waiting. Cathryn felt uneasily that Lewis Stovall was a man with secrets locked inside, just as Rule was, a man who had lived hard and dangerously and who bore the scars of that life. But...he was the foreman? Just what did that make Rule? King of the mountain?

She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, so she returned the greeting that she had received, a brief nod of the head. It was enough. His attention wasn’t on her; he was listening to Rule’s instructions, his head slightly dipped as if he were considering every word he heard. Rule was brief to the point of terseness, a characteristic of his conversations with everyone. Except with herself, Cathryn realized suddenly. Not that Rule could ever be termed talkative, but he did talk more to her than he did to anyone else. From the day he had told her of her father’s death, he had talked to her. At first it had been as if he had to force himself to communicate, but soon he had been teasing her in his rusty, growling voice, aggravating her out of her grief.

Lewis nodded to her again and left them, his tall body graceful as he moved away. Rule turned her back toward the entrance, his hand still on the small of her back. “I came up to the house at lunchtime to take you with me for the rest of the day, but you had already gone. Where did you go?”

It was typical of him that he hadn’t asked Lorna. “To Wallace’s drugstore,” she answered automatically. The warm pressure of his hand was draining away her resolve, making her forget why she was so angry. Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from his touch and faced him. “Did you say that Lewis is the foreman?” she asked.

“That’s right,” he said, pushing his hat back a little and watching her with his dark, unreadable eyes. She sensed the waiting in him, the tension.

She said sweetly, “Well, if he’s the foreman, then I don’t need you any longer, do I? You gave away your own job.”

His hand shot out and caught her arm, pulling her back into the circle of his special heat and smell. His mouth was a grim line as he shook her slightly. “I needed help, and Lewis is a good man. If you care so much, then maybe you’d better stay around and do a share of the work too. Ward had a foreman to help him, and that was without the added work of the horses, so don’t turn bitchy on me. While you were tucked up in bed, I was up at two o’clock this morning with a mare in foal, so I’m not in the mood to put up with any of your tantrums right now. Is that clear?”

“All right, so you needed help,” she admitted grudgingly. She hated to acknowledge the logic of his words, but he was right. However, that didn’t have anything to do with what she had heard in town. “I’ll concede that. But can you tell me why the Bar D is known as Rule Jackson’s spread?” Her voice rose sharply on the last words and temper made color flare hotly in her cheeks.