Rawhide and Lace

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.