Heather's Song

With a sigh, she pulled herself up straight. All she had to go on was a new look in Cole’s eyes, and she might have misread the situation entirely. Perhaps he’d only been teasing, and here she was going wild at an imagined intimacy.

She jerked her mind back to Emma’s running commentary on the ranch, and her efforts to set up a day-care center for children of working mothers in the area. That was it, she’d only imagined Cole’s interest. But in the back of her mind, she could still hear his male voice, quiet and dangerous, awakening dormant longings deep inside her.

Three days later, Heather was convinced that she’d imagined it all. Cole was pleasant but distant with her; there was nothing romantic in his attitude. He didn’t go out of his way to find her, but he didn’t avoid her either. He was his old self, on the surface at least, and Heather began to relax as her voice and her confidence slowly returned. But sometimes she caught his silver eyes flashing toward her, and once she met a look from them that held a strange anger, almost hatred, and the intensity of it unnerved her. What had she done to make Cole dislike her so? Perhaps, she mused, he was regretting that remark he’d made and hoping she would be adult enough not to take it seriously.

* * *

Tessa swept in like a conquering army the next day, all false smiles and sweetness. She was playing up to Cole as usual while Heather sat and watched with a new emptiness in her heart.

“I was so sorry to hear about your accident.” Tessa sighed, waving a perfectly manicured hand toward Heather. “You never were much of a driver, were you, darling? I remember the day you ran Cole’s Ferrari through the corral fence.” She laughed cuttingly, her black eyes snapping at the taller woman. “What a mess! And Cole was simply furious, weren’t you, darling?” She laughed huskily, worshiping the man beside her on the couch with her eyes.

Cole smoked his cigarette silently, and his eyes narrowed, moving deliberately over Heather’s slender body. She was wearing a silky beige pantsuit that hugged her slim curves like a caress.

Heather looked at his brown leather boots instead of his face, and she was alarmed at her own reaction to his blatant stare. He was only doing it to needle her, she told herself. He wasn’t really interested.

Tessa continued her monologue. “We had a lovely time in San Antonio,” she told the younger girl. “It was a Bach concert, so pleasant on the ears. Nothing like this vulgar modern stuff,” she added with distaste. “I don’t like pop music.”

And that, Heather thought, was a nice dig. Just the right touch of backhanded courtesy. Tessa knew full well that Heather sang pops. Or had, until the accident.

“Have you tried singing since the accident?” Tessa asked with feigned concern. “Cole told me you’re pretty nervous about how your voice will be—I guess this could mean the end of your career, couldn’t it?”

Heather got up from her seat and left the room without a look or a backward glance. She was hurting too much to fight back, even if she’d had a voice to fight with.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?” Tessa murmured, a good imitation of regret in her silky voice. “Poor little thing…”

Heather kept right on walking.

* * *

She lay awake late that night, the harsh words haunting her. Would she sing again? Did she have the courage to go back to Houston and pick up the pieces of her career? Memories of the emptiness, the loneliness, the long hours of singing in dark, smoky clubs filled her mind.

The door opened in the middle of her deep thoughts, and Cole came in, closing it behind him. He was in evening clothes, devastating in his elegant dark suit and spotless white silk shirt. His tie was off and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, where bronzed skin and curling black hair made a dark wedge against the whiteness of the silk. He looked sublimely masculine, sensual, and Heather felt vulnerable in her frothy pink nightgown, even with the quilted coverlet pulled up over her waist. She had to fight to keep from pulling it up to her throat, especially when Cole’s glittering eyes narrowed on the curves of her small, high breasts exposed by its plunging neckline.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard and shook her tousled blond head.

He paused beside the bed, his hands on his slim hips, and stared boldly down at her.

“Nervous, honey?” he asked with amusement when she jerkily pulled up the covers.

She flushed and glared up at him.

He chuckled softly. “Little saint,” he chided. “I probably know more about a woman’s body than you do.”

I don’t doubt that for a minute, she thought furiously, and knew he could read the thought in her mind.

He reached down and touched her tousled hair tenderly. “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly. “Did Tessa upset you?”

She chewed on her lower lip and averted her gaze. “Yes,” she said softly.

“She doesn’t understand,” he reminded her. “Tessa never wanted a career. She’d rather work at being a woman.”

Her eyes darted up to his curiously, searching them in the silence that followed.

His eyes narrowed at the scrutiny. “No, I don’t sleep with her,” he said harshly.

Her lips parted slightly as she gasped. She hadn’t been wondering about that at all.

“And even if I did,” he added ominously, “it wouldn’t be any business of yours.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She couldn’t understand what had set him off.

“But then, you’ve never been interested in that side of my life, have you, Heather?” His silver eyes darted over her face. “You’ve never wondered if I had women.”

That was true. But she was beginning to be curious about him in ways that shocked her.

He laughed, but without mirth. “It’s just as well, little one. There wouldn’t be any future in it. I’ve got thirteen years on you.”

She’d never thought about the age difference between them before. It hadn’t mattered. But suddenly it seemed to matter, to Cole anyway.

“We’re going to Nassau the first of the month,” he tossed out. “I need a break as much as you do, and it will do Emma good to get away from here for a while. I can spare two or three days. The sun will help you relax.”

She smiled up at him. Nassau was one place she’d always wanted to see, but Cole was so busy that holidays with him were rare. Perhaps this trip would provide an opportunity to bridge the rift that was steadily growing between them.

“Lovely little girl,” he murmured, looking down at her with a half-smile on his dark, hard face. “You glow when you smile at me.”

Her smile widened and she reached out involuntarily to catch his hand and clasp it tightly. She felt him stiffen at the touch and draw away from her.

The smile left her face and she looked down at the coverlet with a wounded expression. She felt his silent rejection as keenly as a knife twisting inside her.

“Get some sleep, Heather,” he said roughly, turning away. “Things will look better in the morning.”

* * *

But they didn’t. Not the next morning, or the morning after that. Cole’s temper became legendary over the next few days. It was increasingly dangerous to go near him.

“I only asked him if I could drive into town,” one of the cowboys moaned to Emma, “and he threw a bridle at me.”

“Thank your lucky stars that there wasn’t a horse attached to it,” Emma told him calmly. The mischievous smile she gave him made her look twenty years younger. “You know how Cole is, Brandy.”

“Yes’m,” agreed the grizzled old cowboy. “But usually he only gets like this when something awful goes wrong. Like that time Moze ran the jeep over his favorite shepherd dog. Or during roundup when the calves give us fits.”

“Pretend it’s roundup and bear with him,” Emma said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Brandy drew a long-suffering breath. “He threw a board at Herb,” he muttered, turning to stride away. “Only asked could he go to Johnson’s house to see his girl.”

Heather smothered a smile, shaking her head.

Emma glanced at her. “You wouldn’t know what’s wrong with him, I suppose?” she fished.

“Ask Tessa,” she returned, too quickly. “He’s been like this ever since that night he took her to the country-club dance.”

“That’s true,” Emma recalled. “But I seem to remember that he stopped by your room on his way to bed.”

Heather stared at her feet. “Just to see why I was awake,” she replied. It was nice to be able to talk, although she still hadn’t regained full use of her voice. She hadn’t dared try to sing yet. She knew it was too soon.

“He glares at you,” Emma remarked. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”

Heather shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ve noticed,” she admitted. His anger had hurt, too, because she didn’t understand what she’d done to cause it. But she wasn’t about to tell Emma that.

“He’s looked after you for seven years and more,” the older woman reminded her. “Now you’re independent. You don’t really need him anymore. He’s finding that hard to accept, I think. He’s very possessive of you.”

“I found that out in the hospital,” Heather replied with a sigh.

“So did the rest of us,” Emma mused. “He went right through the ceiling when the hospital called the house and asked why he hadn’t come to see about you. Poor old Bill. I don’t think he’s ever going to get over what Cole said to him. Cole was like a wild man that night. Do you know, he took the plane up without having it checked? That’s a first.”

It certainly was. But Heather didn’t want to think too deeply about it. “He didn’t like Gil,” she murmured.

“The journalist?” Emma laughed. “You know he hates reporters. He’s been hounded by them too much over the years. Maybe he thought Mr. Austin was trying to get to him through you.”

She hadn’t considered that. “Yes, he might have,” she said, nodding.

“And, too…oh!” Emma went white and almost doubled over, sweat beading her forehead.

“Emma, what’s wrong!” Heather cried, holding up her stepmother’s thin form. “What is it?”

“Indigestion,” came the angry, muttered reply. “Oh, it makes me so mad. I’m going to have to see a doctor eventually, but I keep thinking it’ll just go away by itself.”

“Are you sure that’s what it is?” Heather studied Emma’s wan face and pained expression.

Emma stood erect by herself, breathing heavily as she tried to compose herself. She managed a smile. “Yes, dear, I’m sure,” she assured the younger woman. “Goodness, I have these attacks all the time. I just take a dose of soda or antacid and they go away. Nothing but indigestion.”

Heather’s set face relaxed. She couldn’t bear for anything to be wrong with Emma. It would hurt far too much to lose her.

Tessa was back the next day, clinging to Cole, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. His eyes remained fixed on her slim figure, and Heather wanted to cry out. It had always bothered her to see them together, but it had never hurt like this. She was looking at Cole with new eyes now. He was powerfully built, his body every inch an athlete’s. He could never have been called handsome, but his very arrogance was magnetic, and the silvery eyes under his jutting brow could charm as well as chill when he wanted them to.

He lavished charm on Tessa that evening. Linking her slender fingers with his, he gave her all his attention as they discussed business in the living room. Tessa knew as much about ranching as her father did, and she had a shrewd business sense. But right now, she was busy being a woman, and Heather felt a surge of pure jealousy in the pit of her stomach as she glanced toward the living room on her way to bed. She remembered too well the feel of Cole’s fingers on her face, the sound of his deep voice. She longed for the touch of his mouth, and her own stirrings frightened her.

Jealousy like this usually accompanied love, she knew. But Cole was her stepbrother. Despite the fact that she’d always put him on a pedestal, he wasn’t an object of her desire…or was he?

* * *

Late the next afternoon, Heather strolled out toward the corral, dressed in jeans and a soft blue cotton shirt with a deep wine pullover sweater protecting her from the chill. There were dark clouds overhead and a storm was threatening. If it had been spring or summer, she’d have sworn it was tornado weather. Even though a tornado was unlikely at this time of year, the wind was fierce.

In the corral, Cole was just swinging into the saddle of a horse Alonzo was breaking for the remuda. His tall figure was immediately recognizable as he caught the reins in one hand and ordered the men back. All at once the chestnut horse became a blur of frantic motion, but Cole’s posture was faultless as he rocked with the horse, whipping back and forth in the saddle as if he’d been stuck to it with instant glue. His batwing chaps flying, he clenched his hat in one lean, powerful hand while the other controlled the furious animal. Cowboys hung on to the fence, laughing and cheering, and she could see the excitement of the challenge in Cole’s hard face even at a distance. There was confidence in every line of his body, confidence coupled with a lithe grace that was blatantly masculine.

The horse gave up long before Cole and stood panting wildly, its legs trembling from exertion. Cole dismounted and gently patted the soft mane, talking to the horse in the same quiet way that he had often spoken to Heather when she was frightened.

When he saw her standing there, his face seemed to go even harder. He looked up as the first drops of rain burst out of the sky and said something to his men. Then he slammed his hat down over his eyes at its usual arrogant slant and started toward her, stripping off the batwing chaps as he walked. He held them over one arm and caught her around the waist with the other, herding her toward the nearby barn as the sky opened up and dumped a spray of liquid bullets onto them.

“You can’t afford a chill right now,” he shot at her. “Run, girl!”

She raced beside him, exhilarated even as his long legs easily outdistanced her. When they reached the barn, her face was flushed, her eyes laughing, her hair in a glorious tumble. Inside, two rows of neat stalls were separated by a long aisle filled with fresh honey-colored wood shavings that made a cushion on the hard ground. She pushed her hair out of her blue eyes and laughed up at Cole as they stood by the door, watching the cold rain pelt down on the paddocks between the barn and the house.

His eyes flicked over her and moved away, back to the rain. He tossed the chaps and his hat aside, idly reaching in his pocket for a cigarette. She watched him light it, her eyes drawn to his strong, tanned fingers as they worked the lighter. The nails were flat and clean, despite the manual labor he occasionally engaged in.

“I didn’t know you still rode broncs,” she said, breaking the tense silence.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he replied without looking at her. He leaned against the barn wall and stared out at the rain with narrowed gray eyes.

That was true. Cole had always been something of a mystery: a secretive, very private person who allowed no one, not even his stepsister, too close.

“Cole, what have I done?” she asked suddenly, unable to bear his coolness a second longer.

He still didn’t look at her. “What makes you think you’ve done anything?”

She lowered her eyes to the ground and moved the wood shavings around lightly with the toe of her boot. “I don’t know…you’re very distant with me lately.”

He laughed mirthlessly, with a sound that was as harsh as the rapping of the rain on the roof or the rumble of thunder.

“Don’t laugh,” she murmured. “We were always close, even when we argued. But it’s all changed now, and I don’t understand why.”

He took a long draw from the cigarette. The howl of the wind echoed through the cozy warmth of the barn; the thunder made the ground shiver. Without warning, his eyes came around to pierce hers, and the intensity of his gaze made her want to back away. “You made the choice, not me,” he said roughly.

She blinked at him. “What choice?”

“To turn your back on your family and carve out a career for yourself,” he said coldly.

She felt shivers run down her arms and she averted her eyes. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you? It was the first time in my life I ever went against you, and you’ll die remembering.” She shook back her hair angrily. “I worshiped you, Cole!” she threw at him, her eyes half-hurt, half-angry.

His jaw went taut. “When will you understand that I don’t want hero worship from you?” he shot at her.

Her lower lip pouted at him. “What do you want?” she challenged.

He threw the cigarette outside into the rain and moved toward her before she could read the intent in his glittering eyes. She shrank back against the rough boards as he propped his lean, brown hands on the wall on either side of her head and eased his body completely down against hers, pinning her there in a silence that burned with emotion. She felt his chest, warm and hard through the layers of clothing, pressing against her soft breasts, his flat stomach and powerful legs in intimate contact with her own.

“Let me show you what I want,” he growled, and what she read in his eyes made her pulse run wild with frightened anticipation.

“Cole…you can’t!” she whispered shakily, her eyes wide and bright.

His eyes dropped to her soft mouth. “Why can’t I?” he challenged. “You’ve done everything but go down on your knees and beg me for it since you came out of the hospital.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, and his dark head bent swiftly. He caught her parted lips with his own, and she felt their rough, demanding warmth for the first time. Her body went rigid as he twisted her lips roughly under his, not a trace of gentleness in him. He was angry and the kiss was the medium of that anger. She moaned weakly under the painful crush of his mouth, his body.

He drew back, breathing hard, his eyes blazing straight into hers from a distance of inches. He studied her tear-bright eyes mercilessly. “How does it feel?” he demanded gruffly.

Her lips trembled. “I…I don’t know,” she whispered, shaken by the close contact with his powerful, hard-muscled body, by the scent of tobacco and oriental cologne that clung to him, by the lingering taste of his mouth.

“You wanted it,” he accused, something violent in the flash of his eyes.

Her breath caught on a sob. “Not anymore,” she got out. “Please let me go.”

He hesitated an instant before he shoved himself away from her and stepped back. His eyes surveyed the damage, the tears shining beneath her eyelashes, the sudden pallor of her face. Then she darted out the door into the storm, oblivious to the driving rain that drenched her before she reached the safety of the house. She was equally oblivious to the narrowed gray eyes that watched her every step of the way.

Chapter Four

Heather pleaded a headache and avoided going to the supper table, thankful that Emma didn’t pursue her with tablets or questions. She didn’t know that the older woman had immediately spotted the heightened color of her face and the shocked confusion in her eyes.

She went straight up to her own room to lock herself in and stare dumbfounded at the image in her mirror. Her face was a stranger’s, with its wide, blue eyes and wildly flushed cheeks. Her mouth had a suddenly passionate look about it, and even now she could taste the smoky warmth of Cole’s mouth with her tongue.

Her eyes closed against the image. Her body could still feel the powerful crush of his. She’d never realized before just how strong he really was. No amount of effort on her part would have freed her—despite the fact that she’d been too shocked to struggle. And he’d had the audacity to say she’d tempted him!

Tempted him, indeed! As if she would have dared to measure her inexperience against his expertise. Not even a novice could have come out of those powerful arms ignorant of the fact that he’d had women. Despite his anger, he had been devastatingly expert. She was grateful that he hadn’t been persuasive as well, because she’d never have been able to resist him.

She folded her arms around her shivering body and went to the window to watch the rain come down. Had she tempted him? If looking at him or touching him was temptation, why hadn’t this happened years ago? She sighed, shaking her tousled head. He’d always known that she put him on a pedestal in her mind. Why had he suddenly decided to come tumbling down from it?

The questions nagged at her far into the night. She wanted to run, like a calf faced with a branding iron. She was afraid of Cole in a new and exciting way. She’d seen him as a lover, and it frightened her to be vulnerable to him.

She thought about leaving Big Spur to go back to Houston. She could call one of her many contacts in the entertainment world and try to line up a job. But was that what she really wanted? She hadn’t yet tested her singing voice and she knew that her hesitancy came from a reluctance to make any hard and fast decisions about her career. It was her singing that had caused the breach between her and Cole—should she continue to pursue it despite his objections?

She had already begun to question herself about her career before the accident. Now those doubts returned to haunt her.

In her weakened state, how would she adjust to the exhausting pace of an engagement schedule? Two shows a night, every night, six days a week, and constant rehearsals. And how would she fight the overwhelming loneliness that assailed her every time she ran away from Big Spur and Cole?

* * *

She went down the stairs reluctantly the next morning, dressed in jeans and a soft yellow V-necked sweater, her hair in a sophisticated French twist at the back of her long, graceful neck. She was hoping against hope that Cole would be off on another trip, or downtown at his business office in Branntville.

But he was still at the breakfast table, alone and brooding. His fingers toyed with a coffee cup that was obviously empty. His dark hair was unruly over his jutting brow, his burgundy shirt open at the throat and straining across the powerful muscles of his chest. He looked forbidding, and Heather paused uncertainly in the doorway, her mind urging retreat.

As if he sensed her presence, he looked up, and something flashed in his silver eyes like summer lightning.

The events of the day before stood between them, the memory of them coming alive as her eyes went involuntarily to his hard mouth. She vividly remembered the crush of his lips against hers. She even remembered the scent of him, the clean warmth of his face, the feel of his body….

“You might as well come in,” he said in a curt, angry tone. “It won’t go away.”

She lifted her face proudly and refused to be drawn into asking him what he meant. She sat down two chairs away from him and reached for the coffeepot. Her fingers trembled slightly as she filled a cup. “Where’s Emma?” she asked, trying to make idle conversation.

“Gone into town to see the doctor,” he replied curtly.

She frowned. “Is there something wrong?” she asked in concern.

Cole shook his head. “It’s just that indigestion she’s been complaining of lately—I finally convinced her to see the doctor about it.” His eyes shot to her face, cutting and hard. “Now, are there any other topics you’d like to cover before we discuss what’s really on both our minds?”

She stared at the reflection of the chandelier in her black coffee. “I don’t want to talk about it, Cole,” she said in a low voice.

He drew a short breath and lit a cigarette with quick jerky movements. He took a draw from it before he looked up, and his gaze didn’t miss the dark circles under her eyes. “Did I hurt you, Heather?” he asked in a tone that she’d never heard him use before.

Her cheeks went dusky pink, and she could only manage to shake her head.