Six White Horses Page 11

  "I'd… I'd be too ashamed to face them."

  She felt the tensing of his muscles as he held himself motionless for an instant. Then he raised his head to study her face in the dim light.

  "Is that your reaction to my kisses? Shame?" A latent harshness crept into his low voice.

  Her heart stopped for an instant and Patty had to close her eyes to keep herself from drawing him back into the closeness of her arms.

  "What self-respecting girl would want to be found letting a man who doesn't like her make love to her?" she argued quietly.

  Morgan rolled away, lying back on the mattress beside her. "I suppose there is some twisted logic to that observation," he agreed dryly.

  Her limbs were still too weak to enable her to move. She turned her head sideways on the pillow to look at him.

  "Morgan, why did you kiss me?"

  His face was in the shadow so she could only see a dim outline of his rough features.

  "I wanted to," he answered calmly. "And I sensed that you wanted me to. You did, didn't you?"

  It wasn't exactly a question, but Patty answered it anyway. "Yes, I did."

  She levered herself upright before she revealed the nebulous sensation that she had fallen in love with him. She has disliked him for so long that it seemed absurd that she could reverse her emotions in the space of a few minutes.

  "Tell me," Morgan commanded. "Did you enjoy it?"

  "I wasn't taking notes." Patty tried to shrug away his question.

  "I certainly hope not," he chuckled, a pleasant sound that moved caressingly over her skin.

  "I have to see grandpa." She slipped from the bed before Morgan could try to stop her.

  Her haste was unnecessary as he remained in his prone position. Quickly she secured the robe around her neck, the heat rising in her face under the intensity of his gaze.

  "What could be so urgent at this hour?" he questioned with a trace of amusement at her hurried and fumbling movements.

  "Landmark was fussing. I thought grandpa should check. I was going to go myself—" If she had, none of this would have happened, Patty realized. All this turmoil wouldn't be disrupting and confusing her now. "I should have," she finished grimly.

  "And you're sorry you didn't, aren't you?" Morgan added quietly. "Don't answer that." He inhaled deeply as if to control a growing impatience. "There's no need to waken your grandfather. I'll check on the horses for you."

  Patty was about to make some silly protest that she didn't want to bother him, then she changed her mind. The dim light played over his naked chest as he sat up in the bed. Quickly she turned away.

  "Would you like me to go with you?" she asked nervously.

  There was the rustling of material and the sound of bare legs stepping into Levi's. "I don't think that's a particularly good idea, Patty."

  He didn't explain, but then he didn't have to. Patty was aware of the kindled fire inside of her that required only the spark of his touch to be ignited into flame again. For all Morgan's control, he was a man, and that was a dangerous fire to play with.

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  "For what?" he mocked; cat-quiet footsteps had brought him to her side.

  "F-for checking on the horses," Patty stumbled.

  A brilliant light still burned in his eyes as he looked down on her with a knowing smile. "I need the fresh air anyway."

  Patty knew her attempts to be silent as she felt her way back down the stairs amused Morgan, but at this point she couldn't handle the embarrassment of being discovered.

  "Off to bed with you," he murmured near her hair when they reached the ground-floor hallway. "And don't stick your nose outside the door again tonight."

  "The horses—" she began.

  "If there's any trouble, I'm capable of taking care of it. Now, good-night," Morgan issued firmly.

  "Good-night." Patty moved reluctantly toward her room.

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  Chapter Eight

  PATTY HADN'T GONE immediately to bed when she reached her room. For long moments she had stood at the window gazing at the stables and the light that flickered with the movement of the night breeze through the leaves of the tree outside. The absurd sensation that she had fallen in love with the tall, dark-haired man out there in the stables had persisted, but she couldn't reconcile the emotion with all the years of intense dislike.

  You couldn't simply dislike a man for that length of time and then one night declare that you loved him, she had argued with herself. It wasn't logical.

  With the dawning of the new day, Patty still refused to accept the possibility that she had truly fallen in love with Morgan Kincaid. It was physical desire, she told herself firmly. Her body had simply reacted to his expert caresses. There was no need to try to condone her response, with some ridiculous notion that she loved the man. Morgan Kincaid had attracted her with his virility, that was all. That had to be all it was.

  The tumbling, of her stomach at the sight of him sitting at the breakfast table, dark and vitally attractive, cast the first stone of doubt. She avoided the glittering blue of his eyes as she took her chair.

  "Good morning. Did you sleep well?" Molly Kincaid greeted Patty, as she set a glass of orange juice in front of her.

  "Yes, thank you, I did." The sudden clamoring of her senses at Morgan's presence made her voice unnaturally tight.

  "When she finally got to sleep," Morgan added. There was a faint inflection that made his comment a direct taunt. The half-angry look she gave him was an unspoken plea for his silence that he ignored. "Patty came to my room last night," he explained, his eyes dancing with laughter at the sudden flames in her cheeks. "She heard one of the horses fussing and mistook my room for her grandfather's."

  "I thought I heard voices around midnight coming from your room," Everett King declared. "I couldn't make up my mind if I was hearing things or if you were talking in your sleep."

  "Was there any problem with the horses?" Lucas Kincaid glanced at his son.

  "No, I checked," Morgan shook his head. "A case of lonesomeness, I guess."

  "I'm sorry I woke you unnecessarily," Patty offered stiffly.

  "You suitably compensated me at the time," he murmured suggestively, the edges of his mouth twitching in mockery.

  Lucas Kincaid gave Patty a look of amused contemplation before exchanging a knowing look with his wife. Patty stared at Morgan in helpless frustration. Why couldn't he have kept silent about last night, she cried hopelessly. Why had he made her accidental visit to his bedroom last night common knowledge?

  "Morgan, stop embarrassing Patty." Molly Kincaid came to her rescue with a mild reprimand.

  "Am I?" He studied her downcast gaze and the high color in her face that Patty couldn't control. "You have to admit, mom, that she looks guilty. Anyone would think by looking at her that she'd crawled into bed with me."

  Her fingers closed around the orange juice glass, and the urge to throw it into his mocking face trembled violently within her. The gleam in his eyes told her that Morgan had read her mind. The watchful expression in his face was plainly daring her to do it and let everyone see how close his remark had come to the truth.

  With quivering control, she picked up the glass and drained the juice. It had no taste. In fact, it barely made it past the choked knot of anger in her throat. Patty felt pain, too, pain that he could make fun of what had happened last night. He probably thought it was amusing the way she had responded without any protest.

  "I'm not very hungry, Molly." She addressed his mother with forced evenness. The two women had used their Christian names almost from the first day of her arrival. "I think I'll check on Liberty."

  "I've finished," her grandfather announced as she rose from her chair. "I'll walk with you, Patty."

  Pausing near the table, she waited for her grandfather. She could hardly run from the room. Unwillingly her gaze swept over Morgan. He was leaning back in his chair, regarding her indolently through half-closed eyes
. There was something piercingly thoughtful about the way he looked at her. She guessed he was trying to make up his mind about something, but her expression was not giving him the answer to do so with any amount of certainty.

  Then the hand of her grandfather was touching her elbow, his slight frame at her side. Patty broke free of Morgan's compelling gaze. The increased beat of her heart added to the fear that she had actually fallen in love with him.

  Skinny, kid, Annie Oakley—the names he had called her came back to haunt her as she walked from the house to the stables. They were hardly names to indicate that he had formed any romantic attachment to her. No, his lovemaking had only been another way to mock her.

  "It was a mistake to come here, gramps," Patty said at last, her steps slowing dispiritedly.

  "Morgan?" he questioned softly.

  Darting a startled look at his lean face, she thought for a minute that he had guessed, with his usual astuteness, that she was hovering on the brink of falling in love with Morgan, if she hadn't already crossed it. But he hadn't guessed, she could tell.

  "His shoulder can't heal soon enough," she remarked, breathing easier that her secret was still safe.

  It was true. Patty did want Morgan to leave, and the sooner the better. If she wasn't in love with him, only attracted to him, then she wanted him to leave before it could grow into something more permanent. If it was love that she felt, and she was beginning to suspect the worst, then it was vital that his departure occur soon while the emotion was in its growing stage.

  An inner voice told her that the pain she had felt at the demise of her infatuation with Lije was nothing compared to the agony she could go through. Patty was determined to remain free of pain for the rest of her life—or at least not be so foolish again as to fall in love with a man who didn't care for her.

  "I'm not going to be able to remain in the same house with him much longer," she murmured in a vague warning.

  "He's only teasing," her grandfather smiled without amusement in a conciliatory attempt to ease the frustration that he sensed was seething beneath her controlled calm.

  "Then let's just say that I don't appreciate his brand of humor." She frowned quickly at the painful truth of her words.

  "I can't very well ask him when he intends to leave," Everett argued logically. "This is his home and we are the ones who are guests."

  "Then keep him out of my way!" Patty bit out desperately,

  There was a moment of awkward silence as they resumed their course to the stables. Preoccupied, Patty didn't notice it at first. Then she glanced at the solemn face.

  "Grandpa, what have you maneuvered me into this time?" she asked warily.

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Well, you have to understand, girl, I thought you and Morgan were getting along pretty good. The last few days you've seemed to take his joking in your stride."

  "What did you do?"

  His tanned and wrinkled hand adjusted the Stetson hat on his peppery gray head. "Morgan offered to take us into Oklahoma City the day after tomorrow. I'd mentioned how often you and I had talked about going to the Cowboy Hall of Fame. I meant to say something about it to you last night, but I forgot."

  "I am not going!" she declared forcefully.

  "Patty—"

  "I am not going!" she repeated.

  "Don't be stubborn now. Listen to me," her grandfather requested in his most persuasive voice.

  "Every time I listen to you I find myself getting talked into something. No." Patty shook her head vigorously.

  "Have I ever convinced you to do anything that wasn't for the best in the end?"

  "In the end," she admitted tightly, tossing him an angry look. "But not at the beginning or the middle."

  "It's the way a thing ends up that counts."

  Sighing heavily, Patty gave in. "All right. I'll listen, but that doesn't mean I'm going to agree."

  There was a decided twinkle of triumph in his brown eyes and Patty knew she shouldn't have allowed her grandfather the smallest foothold. He was like Morgan in that respect. The minute she gave an inch, he took a mile. But that's what happens when you love someone, she thought to herself. Her lips tightened at that admission.

  "You see," her grandfather began, "Morgan isn't making the trip into Oklahoma City specially for us. He's going there on business. While he's taking care of that, he suggested that we could go to the Hall of Fame. It's not as if you have to spend the entire morning in his company, just the ride there and back. That's no more time than what you would spend at the dinner table. And I'll be there to act as a buffer."

  "I'm not going."

  In her mind, she was visualizing the journey, sitting in silence in the back seat of the car, mesmerized by the broad shoulders and the black hair that curled around his muscular neck. And the blue eyes that would catch her studying him in the mirror and glitter with knowing mockery.

  "You're being stubborn," her grandfather murmured.

  "So are you. After all, it's not imperative that we see the Hall of Fame now," Patty argued. "You and I can drive to Oklahoma City anytime by ourselves. It's not that far. When Morgan leaves, we can make a day of it."

  She considered her arguments to be based on sound logic, but she had forgotten her grandfather was just as stubborn as she was, especially if he believed he was right. For the next thirty-six hours he kept up a subtle barrage of comments, chiseling patiently away at her adamant stand until Patty toppled and agreed.

  On Thursday morning, she was at the breakfast table, dressed in a summery cotton dress of sunny yellow, trying to convince herself that she had worn it because she was going into the city and not because she wanted to impress Morgan with her feminine curves that the dress showed off so well.

  Patty even took pains to avoid his glance, in case he commented on her appearance, a decided change from her usual Levi's and top. But Morgan was unusually silent, barely speaking at all during the morning meal.

  Not until they were walking from the house to the ranch's station wagon did he address a remark directly to her. "I didn't think you were going to come," he said with casual interest.

  Patty glanced at her grandfather, several steps in front of them, a poisonous dart in the look as she guessed he had mentioned her initial refusal.

  "Neither did I," she retorted.

  "Your grandfather made me promise to be on my best behavior."

  Flushing self-consciously, she kept her gaze downcast. She didn't want to make any reply, but she knew she had to, for pride's sake.

  "And are you?"

  "Going to be on my best behavior?" he finished the question, turning his dark head to look at her. Shrugging, he answered, "It's going to be difficult."

  "It's not so difficult," Patty said, keeping her gaze fixed on the car, refusing to let it waver to the compelling man at her side. "We can simply ignore each other."

  "It's not easy to ignore you."

  His softly spoken reply drew her gaze like a magnet. Something in his voice insisted that she look at him. A slow, lazy smile was spreading across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Patty caught at her breath, very nearly running back to the house before the pull of his charm became irresistible. She wished her grandfather had never extracted that promise from him. She would rather have endured Morgan's mocking insults than be exposed to this potent and compromising friendliness.

  "I don't find it difficult to ignore you," she declared cuttingly, sharply averting her gaze.

  "I've noticed that—at times," Morgan agreed dryly, placing significant emphasis on the qualifying "at times."

  Yes, there had been times when his touch and kiss had obliterated all thought of anyone or anything else. The silent acknowledgment was accompanied by a betraying warmth rising in her neck. Patty quickened her steps to give herself time to control the revealing blush free of his inspecting eye.

  Her grandfather was holding the door to the back seat of the station wagon open for her and Patty slipped quickl
y in. She made a pretense of adjusting the flared skirt of her dress as the driver's door opened.

  "There's plenty of room in the front, Patty." Silent laughter ran through Morgan's voice. "You don't have to sit back there by yourself."

  In the front seat, Patty knew she would be placed in the middle between the two men, in constant physical contact with Morgan for the whole of the ride to Oklahoma City.

  "I'm perfectly comfortable here, thank you," she insisted, putting a chill in her voice that Morgan couldn't overlook.

  "Suit yourself," he shrugged, and slid behind the wheel.

  Her heart sank as the car was started and driven away from the house around the circular drive and down the lane to the highway. She was miserable. The last thing she wanted to do was to be snappish and standoffish, but it was the only way she knew to keep Morgan at a distance. Not that the wanted to be any closer; she was the one who wanted that.

  Forcing her attention away from the dark, curling black head in front of her, she tried to concentrate on the undulating hills with their green dots of trees. In some ways, the landscape of the ranch was reminiscent of her own home in New Mexico. Patty would have liked to explore it on horseback, but it was better that she wasn't too familiar with Morgan's home. Better for her peace of mind, at least.

  How long would it be before Morgan returned to the rodeo circuit, she wondered. Initially his statement had been that he was going to take a two-week rest. That was more than half gone. He had removed the sling three days ago, although his shoulder still wasn't capable of heavy work.

  When he was gone, then what? She and her grandfather were supposed to stay another two months more or less. Thus far, Patty had been subjected to a minimum of stories from Morgan's parents about his childhood days. He was their son. It was natural for them to talk about him. What a mistake it had been to come here, Patty thought dejectedly.

  Nervously nibbling at her lower lip, she caught the movement of Morgan's head as he half turned it toward her, revealing his strong, jutting profile, powerfully carved and rugged. His blue gaze left the road in front of them long enough to flick briefly at her.