Blood Brothers

One

It was good to be back.

Randall came out of Bozeman Airport to the sight of snow. Last time he’d been in Montana, twelve years ago, it had been high summer, but now there was a magical beauty to the white-capped mountains all around the broad valley. He took a long, pleasurable breath. The air was like champagne.

He hadn’t planned it this way. When Gabe set off for Devon to take charge of the Buckworthy Gazette, Randall had meant to visit some of the other Stanton publications, without, of course, telling Gabe and Earl. They could think he was resting.

As if!

If they thought he had time to rest, they knew nothing about Stanton Publications. Come to think of it, they did know nothing about Stanton Publications.

But it seemed they understood Randall. Earl’s eyes had been opened to many things about his heir that he’d missed before-like that he was working himself to death. And Gabe’s understanding of his cousin was instinctive. So the old man and the young had plotted to send Randall to Montana for a few weeks on the MBbar, while Gabe was in Devon.

He hadn’t fought them very hard. His head had been aching, and a few weeks free from all cares had suddenly seemed very attractive.

“I’m going to be you for a while,” Gabe had said, “so you can be me.”

“Run the ranch?” Randall had queried, aghast. “No way, Gabe. I know my limits, even if you don’t.”

“Will you hush! It’s January, the quietest month of the year. Anyway, my mom will be there. She’ll do the stuff that needs a brain. You just relax and enjoy yourself with a bit of roping and riding.”

Claire should be here to meet him, but there was no sign of her. At least, Randall didn’t think so. She’d been twelve last time, and he might not recognize her now-not having noticed her much then, so to speak. She’d been a pest, forever trotting at Gabe’s heels and scowling at him. That much he did remember.

Just when he was wondering if she’d forgotten him he noticed a tall young man in jeans, sheepskin jacket and a large hat, striding purposefully toward him. Closer inspection revealed the young man to be a young woman.

She positioned herself in front of him, thumbs in her belt, pushed back the brim of her hat and surveyed him critically.

“Lord Stanton?” She made it sound like a challenge.

“Randall.”

“Claire. Sorry I’m late.”

Randall took the hand she held out and nearly winced from the force of her grip.

“These yours?” She indicated his bags.

“Yes.”

Randall reached down but she was before him, seizing the heaviest bag and moving off, tossing “This way” over her shoulder. He had no choice but to follow, carrying the smaller bag and feeling like a seven-stone weakling. He wondered if this alarming female would kick snow in his face.

She headed for a four-wheel drive pickup truck that had seen better days, and tossed the heavy bag into the back. She would have seized the other if Randall hadn’t firmly grabbed it.

“It’ll take us an hour,” she said, settling into the driver’s seat. “You okay?”

“Fine, thank you. How is everyone? I’m looking forward to seeing Aunt Elaine again.”

“’Fraid you can’t,” Claire said, swinging the vehicle out onto the Interstate. “She felt better, and wanted to see her Dad, so she went to London. You probably passed her midair.”

“Went to-” Randall echoed in a hollow voice. His cherished picture of freedom took a knock. “You mean I’ve got to run the place?” he demanded, aghast.

“Don’t worry,” Claire said coolly. “Nobody’s going to let you get your hands on anything important. We’ve got Frank, who’s a great foreman. He and I will take care of things.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He was puzzled by her barely concealed hostility. Puzzled but not surprised. Claire had scowled at him when she was a kid, and she was still scowling at him, in a manner of speaking.

Claire was an orphan, raised on the ranch since she was a week old. She was devoted to the land, to her foster parents and above all to Gabe.

Randall glanced sideways, trying to get some idea of how she’d turned out. It was hard, even though she’d tossed her hat aside. Her hair was a rich dark red that might have been attractive if she hadn’t scraped it back so that it lay against her skull with a kind of fierceness. Her skin had the pale porcelain look often found in redheads, and her eyes were a vivid blue. She might have been lovely if she hadn’t seemed determined to squeeze every ounce of femininity out of her appearance.

“Have a good flight, Lord Stanton?” she asked.

“I’m not Lord Stanton,” Randall explained. “That’s my grandfather, the earl. I’m Lord Randall, but can’t you forget that stuff and just called me Randall?”

“Not much point in being a lord then.”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t suppose you remember us much?”

“Well, twelve years is a long time, but I recall how lovely the scenery was. ’Course, that was summer.”

“You warm enough? I’ve got another sheepskin coat in the back.”

“Thank you, but I’m well provided.” He added, slightly nettled, “We do have winter in England, you know.”

“Not like a Montana winter,” she said.

“All I know is that Gabe was bellyaching about the cold when I left.”

“How is Gabe?”

“Apart from the weather he seemed cheerful enough, certain he’s going to knock their eyes out in Devon and show them all how to do it.”

She didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the road, for which Randall was grateful. It was lucky that the Interstate was almost empty, since Claire drove as though she owned every inch.

They were higher now, on the mountain pass, going east into Shields Valley. The great range rose around them, the air so clear that it seemed as if he could touch the peaks, although he knew they were far away.

Just as England was far away, he thought, and all the normal burdens of his life. And right now, that suited him fine. He leaned back in his seat with a sigh of pleasure.

Claire heard it and cast him a sideways glance of disapproval. Everything about him annoyed her, starting with the fact that he looked so much like his cousin. He had the same lofty figure, except that where Gabe was tall and rangy, Randall was tall and elegant. He also had hair of exactly the same shade of brown, plus lean, handsome features that were heartbreakingly like Gabe’s.

Only he wasn’t Gabe. And that was the worst crime of all.

This was the day Gabe should have come home, greeting her with a shout of welcome, smiling into her eyes, and then-oh, please-then realising that she was the girl he’d loved all the time.

Instead she was stuck with this snooty English aristocrat, with his lofty air and his smooth voice, who thought he could just walk into the place. Run the ranch? Who did he think he was?

She knew she wasn’t at her best just now. She ought to have managed a more convincing welcome. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t Gabe.

Hell, yes it was!

“So what’s my big brother up to?” she asked, trying to sound cheerfully casual. “Why’s he staying in England? He told me something on the phone, but I couldn’t make head nor tail of it.”

Randall grinned. “He created a trap and walked into it himself.”

“What does that mean?”

“He got worked up on my account, told the old man I was working too hard and I ought to take a break instead of going to Devon. Next thing, Earl challenged him to take my place, and it was too late for Gabe to back down. You know what he’s like. Big mouth. Boy, is he in for a shock!”

In the pause that followed he was sure he could hear Claire grinding her teeth.

“Great,” she said at last. “Just great. Did anyone-including Gabe-stop to think that he’s needed here?”

“Does Gabe ever stop to think?” Randall riposted. “I remember last time I was here, he and I went a bit mad. Got ferried home by the sheriff more than once. It was always his ideas that landed us in trouble.”

“That’s right, blame him!”

“Blame?” Randall echoed hilariously. “You mean credit. He’d be mad as fire if he didn’t get his due. Funny how women never seem to understand things like that.”

He couldn’t have said anything worse. Memories of that miserable summer flooded back to Claire: herself, twelve years old, hero-worshiping Gabe as she’d done since she was old enough to understand the world and her own place in it.

He was her savior, her idol, her god. Her childhood had been spent trotting after him, running his errands, happy when he talked to her, blissful if he deigned to spend time with her. And always dreaming that next year she would be old enough for him to notice her.

And then his cousin from England had come visiting, and immediately they had been as thick as thieves.

They’d spent all their time together doing things that excluded a twelve-year-old girl. Worst of all, they’d become “blood brothers,” in what Randall, ignorant like all Englishmen, thought of as the traditional Indian manner.

One memory was especially sharp: overhearing Gabe say, “Don’t tell that pest Claire about this. She’d only lecture us about ‘Hollywood fantasies.”’

That night she’d cried herself to sleep. “That pest” was bad enough, but worse, far worse, was “Don’t tell her-” Randall had gotten closer to Gabe than herself.

Now here he was again, keeping Gabe from her, sharing secrets with him, shutting her out. He’d been the enemy then and he was the enemy now.

Darkness was falling fast, causing the mountains to retreat into the gloom. Soon they were past and the plain stretched ahead. Without taking her eyes from the road, Claire said, “Gabe told me you were bringing something special-a gift to the ranch, he said, but he wouldn’t tell me what.”

“That’s right. It’s back there.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

Randall hesitated. This wasn’t the time or the place that he would have chosen. “Gabe was boasting about his herd of Herefords, so I started boasting about Rex. He’s my prize Hereford bull, and what he hasn’t won, isn’t worth winning, and one thing led to another-” he paused delicately.

“Are you saying you’ve brought bull semen?” Claire demanded bluntly.

“Yes,” he said, nettled. “Since you want to take the bull by the-er-horns, yes, it’s bull semen.”

“Why not just say so?”

“Well-a man hesitates to-I mean, with a lady he’s only just met, there are certain topics that-in polite company-hell! Why didn’t Gabe tell you?”

“Probably because he was having a good laugh imagining this conversation.”

“That sounds like Gabe.”

“Anyway, no need to worry about polite company. You’re on the MBbar now.”

They had just that minute passed through the wide gate with the MBbar fixed over it, which meant three more miles until they reached the house. At last it appeared, to Randall’s relief, for he was aching to stretch his long legs and get a warm drink inside him.

The ranch house was a sprawling, two-story building, under a light dusting of snow. Its center was one big room with a polished wood floor, and brightly colored rugs here and there. More rugs hung on the walls, and in the stone fireplace burned a wood fire, its leaping flames reflected in the deep red leather of the armchairs.

“Great,” Randall said, looking around at the homely comfort with pleasure. “It’s hardly changed, bar a few details, from when I spent the best summer of my life here. Am I sleeping in the same room?”

“You’re in Gabe’s room. His orders.”

She made a dive for the large bag but Randall was too quick for her, grabbing both cases and giving her a challenging look. She returned it in full measure, so that he had a grandstand view of the thrilling blue of her eyes, before leading him up the broad wooden stairs.

When she’d left him Randall surveyed the bedroom with reminiscent pleasure. This was where he and Gabe had slept last time, yakking well into the night, reading forbidden books by torchlight and sipping surreptitious slugs of whiskey. The two beds had vanished, replaced by one large enough for a big man to sprawl out on.

He thought of calling Gabe, then stopped as he realized it was the early hours of the morning in England, although only evening here. The long flight, plus the time difference, was playing havoc with his inner clock. He yawned, trying not to be overcome by jet lag.

A shower in Gabe’s bathroom made him feel better, then he searched Gabe’s wardrobe and found a check shirt and jeans, which he put on. He’d brought very few clothes of his own because Gabe had told him to make free with his.

He yawned again and stretched out on the bed, feeling glad to be here. Other considerations aside, it would get him away from the “Hon Hon”, as Gabe insisted on calling the Honorable Honoria.

The thought slipped in without warning and startled him. Only recently he’d half planned to marry Honoria. They weren’t in love, but she was eminently suitable to be an earl’s wife, and it was time he married.

Honoria thought so, too. At Earl’s party she’d attached herself to Randall. People had called them “a lovely couple.” And suddenly he felt trapped.

He wasn’t sure what had changed, unless it was the effect of Gabe parachuting into his life without warning. That had always been Gabe’s style-without warning. He was like a breath of fresh air; irresponsible, crazy Gabe, who never looked further than the next girl or the next slug of whiskey. It would be fun to “be” him for a while.

Imperceptibly, Randall ceased to fight off the jet lag.

Ten minutes later Claire knocked on his door, calling “Supper’s ready.”

Getting no answer, she looked in, and drew a sharp breath at what she saw.

The man who lay dead to the world on the bed wore Gabe’s clothes, was the same lanky shape, and with his hair tousled from the shower, the likeness was emphasised. The sight struck Claire before she had time to arm herself against it, and suddenly her eyes blurred.

Moving quietly, she came closer. It might have been Gabe, and she could dream, couldn’t she? Just for one little moment. She loved Gabe more than she could bear. He was so far away, and she was so lonely. She settled noiselessly into a chair and watched Randall, aching with some bittersweet emotion that was neither happiness nor misery, but an almost unbearable mixture of the two.

She didn’t know that he’d awoken and was regarding her through his eyelashes, puzzled by her expression.

For her sake he grunted and stirred before opening his eyes fully, and that gave her time to get hastily to her feet and compose her face.

“I looked in to say supper’s ready,” she said gruffly. “I wasn’t sure whether to wake you.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“No it’s not,” Claire said bluntly. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” She vanished.

Randall pulled a wry face. Whatever Claire’s virtues might be, they didn’t include the social graces.

But social graces seemed to mean less than in his other life. What did matter was the long, pleasurable view of her he’d just enjoyed. Without the big sheepskin jacket Claire was revealed as slim and shapely, filling her jeans very nicely, thank you. Randall had swiftly revised his ideas. How could he ever have mistaken her for a man?

Gabe called her “my tomboy kid sister,” and no wonder if she was so set on being one of the boys. But that was a pity. From his viewpoint she had a lot of potential for being one of the girls.

Going down a few moments later, he found Claire in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot from which were coming delicious smells. She’d released her hair and it was falling about her face, softening the fierce air that she wore like armor.

Randall held out his offering, a small, insulated unit containing Rex’s finest. Claire received it without embarrassment and took it away to deposit somewhere safe. Randall looked around at the warm kitchen. In the center stood a large table, big enough to take ten, but laid for two.

“The others have had theirs,” Claire explained, returning.

“The others?”

“North, Dave, Olly. They’re all that’s here now. In summer there’d be more.”

While he waited, Randall looked around him, enjoying the sight of the old place again. Claire watched him with disapproval.

“It’s not as grand as Stanton Abbey,” she said.

Randall regarded her blankly. “Of course not. Nothing is.”

Great! she thought crossly. This snooty Englishman was so lofty that she couldn’t even needle him.

She ladled a thick stew onto two plates and set one before him. It was delicious.

As they ate he came to a sudden decision. “Mind telling me how I got on your wrong side?” he asked mildly. “There’s an atmosphere you could cut with a knife.”

“Gabe should be here attending to the ranch, not off on the other side of the world.”

“But Gabe told me this was the quiet time.”

“There is no quiet time,” Claire said firmly. “There’s a mountain of things to do.”

“Then you’ll just have to show me.” He assumed a droll manner. “I’m a quick learner. I’m honest and tidy and-and I don’t eat much,” he finished triumphantly.

To his delight she gave a choke of laughter before she could bite it back. It lit up her face brilliantly, and he was fascinated. Then it was gone as though she’d slammed the shutters down, but Randall continued to regard her with pleasure.

“Why are you staring at me?” she demanded.

“I was wondering where you got that ravishing red hair.”

“No idea. I was a foundling. Thought you knew.”

“That’s right, I did. Gabe found you in a box on the back porch when he was seven.”

“Right. There was a note saying that someone called ‘Abe Stevens’ was my father. He was a hand that had worked here, but he was long gone by that time.”

Randall grinned. “I remember Aunt Elaine saying how Gabe took you under his wing, acted like you were an unusual sort of puppy sent for him to play with.”

Aunt Elaine had contacted the authorities, agreeing to care for the baby until the mother could be traced. But she never was.

“Gabe even chose my name,” Claire said now. “And he badgered his Mom and Dad until they said I could stay.”

Twenty-four years later she was still here. No wonder, Randall thought, that she was devoted to her “big brother.”

“So nobody knows who I am,” Claire said. “I could be descended from thieves, murderers-” She tossed the dubious possibilities at him defiantly, almost challenging him to say that she wasn’t good enough to associate with a lord.

But she’d mistaken her man. Randall had met inverted snobbery before, and he knew how to deal with it. “Kings, queens, sultans,” he supplied. “Your blood could be bluer than mine. And let me tell you something about blue blood. It doesn’t start out that way.”

“How do you mean?”

“The Stantons were some of the shadiest characters you ever saw. Gamblers, thieves, cutthroats, all of them low-life with an eye to the main chance. They made their money in various villainous ways, and when they had enough they bought their title and their big house, and pretended they were real aristocrats. Actually, of course, they were still as common as muck, but within a few years everyone who remembered that was dead. That was when their blood turned blue.”

Claire gave another unwilling laugh. On the pretext of refilling his plate, she studied Randall, not knowing what to make of him anymore. She wasn’t used to men who talked like this. Gabe’s humor was loud, up-front and boisterous. So, for that matter, was everyone’s on the ranch. Even Aunt Elaine.

But Randall spoke with a quiet, fine honed irony; “British” humor, no doubt. It annoyed her to discover that she enjoyed it.

Randall looked up, grinning. “Don’t let anyone fool you with that ‘aristocrat’ rubbish, Claire.”

The grin was delightful. She looked away quickly. “Who’s fooled?” she asked. “I saw through you at the start.”

“I sure hope so.”

He wished she would laugh again. It made a light come on inside her, revealing things he wanted to know about. Why did she switch it off so fast?

“This food’s good,” he said. “Did you cook it?”

“It’s just a stew.”

“Best stew I ever tasted.”

Instead of appreciating the compliment she rose and threw some more logs on the floor.

“It’s been snowing on and off for the last few days,” she said, “but I reckon tonight we’ll have the big one.”

She removed his plate and set another one, bearing a large piece of cherry pie, in front of him. Before he could stop her she scooped ice cream from a tub and dumped it on his plate.

“Hey!” he protested. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“Gabe eats ice cream like there’s no tomorrow, and he never gets fat.”

“But I’m not Gabe,” Randall reminded her gently.

She set down the tub abruptly. “That’s right.” She removed the ice cream.

“Why don’t you tell me about the mountain of things to do?” he invited.

“The big chore in winter is feeding the stock,” she said. “They can’t graze as they would in summer because the snow covers the grass, so we bring them in closer, to where we can keep an eye on them and take hay out to them every day.”

Randall nodded. “I do the same with mine.”

“You-personally?”

“No, I have stockmen. Does that matter?”

“I just wondered how used you were to turning out into the snow. You’ll probably prefer to stay here and keep warm.”

“No, I’d prefer to come with you,” he said at once.

She was immediately conscience stricken. “Look, there’s no need. I mean, just because I riled you-”

“You don’t rile me, at least, not enough to make me do anything I don’t want to do.” He added wickedly, “But you can keep trying.”

She was too wise to answer this directly.

“Tomorrow we’ll take two trips, the first before breakfast.”

“I’ll go out with the second,” he said. “I’m not a glutton for punishment.

“We go to bed early in winter,” she said, “and get up at first light.”

Randall yawned. “Suits me.”

“Frank’s away clinching a deal for Gabe at the moment. You’ll meet the hands tomorrow.” Claire hesitated. “You may not find them easy to get to know.”

“I’ll try not to let them intimidate me. Thanks for the warning.”

They went upstairs together. In the corridor he said, “No need to escort me to my room. I’ll try to remember the way.”

“Fine. Goodnight.” Claire opened the door to her own room, but stopped as if she remembered something. “You’ll find some extra blankets in the closet. It gets real cold out here. Randall?”

He was staring over her shoulder at the little table by her bed. Claire followed his gaze, said a hasty “Goodnight” and shut the door.

Randall went on to his room, sunk in thought at what he’d seen. Right by Claire’s bed was a photo of Gabe wearing his most wicked and appealing grin.

So that was it! Claire was carrying a torch for Gabe, and she was mad at Randall for being the wrong man.

Far from being offended, Randall found himself relaxing at being with a woman who wasn’t out to catch him. After the perfect manners of Lady Honoria and other hopeful damsels, Claire’s blunt disapproval came almost as a relief.

He was smiling as he climbed into bed, and asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Two

Randall slept poorly because he had to keep getting up for more blankets. When it got cold in Montana, he realized, it really got cold. With every possible blanket on the bed, he was still barely warm.

At the first gleam of light he rose and sat by the window, swathed in blankets, to watch the dawn come up. It was magic: dark gray at first, then lightening to pearl as it crept over the huge, silent landscape of a Montana winter. Randall watched with a sense of wonder.

The estate attached to Stanton Abbey was large, but it had nothing like the eerie vastness of the MBbar. As first one building, then another took shape, Randall had a sense of ghosts coming out of the mist. From somewhere unseen a horse whinnied softly.

At last the land appeared, gleaming white, for Claire had been right about the snow. It had fallen heavily during the night and now lay thickly on the ground and against the doors.

Randall wasn’t sentimental about snow, despite its beauty. He knew it could be a treacherous enemy, and more so than ever in an exposed place like this.

But this morning he would have more than snow to worry about. He was about to meet the hands. And he had no illusions about how important it was.

Gabe had given him a brief rundown.

“Frank’s the foreman. He and his wife have their own place on the ranch. He doesn’t say a lot, but he’s a great guy. There’s only three hands at the moment, and they live in the bunkhouse.”

He descended to find three men waiting for him, stamping their feet and blowing on their hands as though they’d just come in from the cold. Heads were raised as he came down the stairs. Eyes bored into him, watchful, sarcastic. It would have been unnerving if Randall had been easily unnerved.

The most prominent was a stocky, fair-haired individual in his thirties. He was handsome in a bullish, showy way, but he had a suspicious face. From Gabe’s description Randall guessed that this was Dave, the chief hand. Beside him stood a man with a long white beard, and a head of thick, white hair, whom Randall knew was called Olly.

“As long as I’ve known him he’s looked like the Oldest Living Inhabitant,” Gabe had said. “So of course he became Olly.”

Despite his white hair Randall noticed that Olly’s cheeks were ruddy, and his eyes brilliant and lively.

The third man stood slightly apart. He was youngish, maybe thirty, tall and rangy, with dark hair and eyes, and a lean face. When the other two moved forward he stayed back.

Claire appeared and made the introductions.

“This is Dave,” she said, indicating the stocky man who stretched his mouth in an unwelcoming smile. Randall felt his hand seized in a painful grip that he did his best to return with interest.

Olly’s smile was friendly enough, but his grasp too was powerful. Afterward Randall resisted the temptation to flex his fingers.

“And this is North,” Claire said, indicating the third man.

North kind of drifted forward and extended his hand vaguely, with an amiable smile. His handshake was firm without being a trial of strength. Of the three he seemed to be the only one without attitude, and Randall instinctively liked him.

Claire called, “Come and get it!” and the men converged on the kitchen.

Standing by the stove, stirring porridge, was a large, middle-aged Indian woman.

“Her name is Susan,” Gabe had told him. “We took her on last summer to help cook for the hands. But when winter came and most of them drifted away, she had nowhere else to go. So she stayed.”

And Randall had said, “Still collecting waifs and strays, I see.” Gabe’s casual kindness had always been the most endearing thing about him.

Claire was about to introduce him but Randall forestalled her, holding out his hand to the Indian woman and giving her his most charming smile.

“Hi, I’m Randall, and you must be Susan. Gabe told me all about you. He said you cooked the best gooseberry pie in all Montana.”

She looked delighted but said nothing, showing her pleasure, instead, by heaping porridge into Randall’s bowl until he had nearly twice as much as the others.

“You’re going to need plenty inside you,” Claire said, confirming Randall’s thought that this was Susan’s way of welcoming him.

He’d noticed that Dave took care to grab the seat beside Claire. As she moved about his eyes followed her.

Randall didn’t blame him. Her face was prettily flushed from the stove, and the heat had made her hair float in soft wisps about her face. Randall regarded her, entranced, unaware that he was smiling at the picture she presented, until Claire noticed and frowned at him. He concentrated on his food.

Dave was eating fast.

“It’s not going to run away, Dave,” Claire told him, laughing.

“Sooner we’re finished, sooner we get to work,” Dave said flatly. “I’m still cold from the first time out.”

He glared at Randall as though he was personally responsible.

“Last time I was here it was summer,” Randall observed. “I’m looking forward to seeing the MBbar in winter.”

He was making polite conversation, but it was the wrong thing to say, he knew that as soon as the words were out. Dave snorted his contempt.

“Snow ain’t there for entertainment. It’s there to make life hard. Guess you don’t know that.”

“We have snow in England,” Randall said, refusing to be ruffled. “Just before I left I took some pictures of Gabe shovelling it away from Earl’s front path.”

“Earl?” they all chorused.

“My grandfather. We call him Earl because he’s-an earl.”

Their expressions told him he’d said the wrong thing again. But what was the right thing? Was there one?

“My grandfather was a miserable old sod,” Dave observed. “But we didn’t call him that. Leastways, not to his face.”

“Perhaps you should,” Randall said at once. “It might have improved him.”

North gave a snort of laughter. Olly grinned. Dave scowled.

North said, “Thought earls had servants to clear their paths.”

“He does,” Randall confirmed. “But he said since he had a pair of lazy lummoxes for grandsons, they could make themselves useful.” Hoping to lighten the atmosphere, he added, “I’ll get the pictures.”

Once out of sight upstairs he leaned back against the wall and let out a long breath. This was going to be tougher than he’d thought. Well, at least it would make life interesting.

He found the photographs and headed back downstairs. As he descended he heard the sound of laughter, followed by Claire’s voice, reproving but on the verge of a chuckle.

“Cut it out, Dave. He’s not that bad.”

Dave’s donkey bray of laughter made Randall wince. He stayed where he was, shamelessly eavesdropping.

“Not that bad?” Dave roared. “He’s the best entertainment we’ve had around here in months. Did you feel his hands? Not a callus anywhere.”

“He’s a lord,” Claire observed. “They don’t have calluses.”

“Then he sure came to the wrong place,” Dave observed.

“He won’t last here,” Olly said. “Fifty dollars says he’s on the first plane out tomorrow.”

“You don’t have fifty dollars,” North observed mildly.

“No sweat. I won’t need it.”

“Give him a chance.” That was Claire.

“Sure we’ll give him a chance,” Dave said. “A chance to ride Nailer.” He brayed again.

“No way,” North broke in, his mild voice sounding unexpectedly firm. “Claire, you can’t let him ride Nailer. Not until you know if he can ride.”

“All aristocrats can ride,” Claire said. “But you’re right. I don’t want to have to explain to Gabe how his cousin got a broken neck.”

“That Gabe!” Olly chuckled. “Trust him to think of a joke like this. Boy he must be laughing!”

“Did you hear his voice?” Dave chortled. “Did you hear his voice?”

He seemed totally overcome with mirth, which turned into a coughing fit. There was the sound of hands slapping a back, as if the rest were trying to stop Dave from choking to death.

“Don’t try too hard, folks,” Randall murmured.

He stayed sunk in thought for a moment. By the time he went down the rest of the stairs he’d come to a decision. If that was how they wanted to play-Fine!

He returned to the table, seemingly unaware of how the talk stopped at the sight of him. He laid the pictures down with an air of lofty indifference. Dave grunted, but the others spread them out with interest.

“Who’s Santa Claus?” North asked, pointing to a gleeful, red-cheeked figure.

“That’s my grandfather, Lord Cedric, Earl Stanton, Viscount Desborough, Baron Stornaway and Ellesmere, hereditary lord of the manor of Bainwick,” Randall said coolly.

“Don’t look like an earl,” Olly observed.

“That is not necessary,” Randall observed in his most disdainful voice. “What matters is to possess the lineage, and to have people know that you possess it, eh? What?”

That would show them, he thought. If they expected him to talk as though he was chewing nettles, then that’s what he’d do. Eh? What?

Claire was frowning at him as though wondering why he’d suddenly started to talk the kind of English normally heard only in bad stage productions. He was going to wink at her and share the joke, but North claimed his attention, and when he looked back she’d returned to the kitchen to get bacon and eggs.

“Sleep well?” she asked him when she returned.

“Excellently!” he said in a robust voice. “Except for being rather too hot. But after I threw off a couple of blankets I was fine.” He saw the others staring at him, and said blandly, “We learned to be hardy at Eton, dontcha know?”

“You’ll need to be hardy out here,” Dave said. “Can you ride?”

“Dave!” Claire muttered in an undervoice of protest. “I told you-”

“I was in the army, old bean,” Randall declared in a bored voice. “In the Household Cavalry. Guardin’ the Queen.”

Dave looked about to be overcome with mirth again, but a glance from Claire kept him quiet. Susan went around refilling coffee cups, doing Randall’s first, and the moment passed.

At last they all got up from the table. Randall went upstairs. North and Olly went to the bunkhouse. Dave stayed behind muttering to Claire.

“Even Susan’s all over him because he’s a lord.”

“It’s not that,” Claire said. “I think it’s because he spoke to her so nicely. Some people act like she’s part of the furniture.”

She turned a significant eye on Dave, who was the chief offender. He grunted and quickly moved off. Claire had to admit that she’d been impressed by the way Randall had put himself out to be pleasant to Susan.

Just like Gabe, she thought quickly. In fact, Gabe probably advised him to do it.

Susan bustled in to clear the table, casting an appreciative eye on Randall’s empty plate. “What a nice boy.”

“Of course, he’s Gabe’s cousin,” Claire reminded her.

“He’s more handsome than Gabe,” Susan said slyly.

Claire bristled. “He is not.”

Susan chuckled and withdrew under a mountain of plates. Claire looked around, then reached into her shirt where she’d hidden the picture of Gabe that she’d secreted from the pack. Susan’s switch of allegiance gave a new poignancy to the face that laughed back at her from so many thousand miles away.

Randall, coming downstairs a moment later to retrieve the photographs, stopped, held by the sight that met his eyes.

Claire was standing there, regarding Gabe’s picture with a look more piteous than words. For once her face was soft, defenseless, and Randall felt as though he’d had a blow to the heart.

Poor Claire, he thought. What a rotten thing to happen to her, being landed with me. I shouldn’t have come.

Randall wasn’t more sensitive than the next man, or especially in tune with the feelings of women, as several ex-girlfriends could have testified. But something about Claire’s dumb anguish got under his radar, and reached his heart before he knew it.

He’d never felt this kind of empathy for anyone. She was almost alone in a household of men. His Aunt Elaine, though a kindly soul, had a robust attitude to life that might make her hard to confide in. From what he recalled of Martha, she was much the same. Besides, she wasn’t around now. Claire was isolated, trying to be one of the boys while coping with a woman’s feelings, knowing them unrequited.

She was rough, awkward, bristly. But she was also unhappy and lonely, and his heart went out to her.

She moved and he quickly retreated back up the stairs. It would be fatal for her to find him intruding on her private sadness.

In his room he finished getting dressed, and was about to leave when an impulse made him turn back and pick up the phone by his bed. It would be late afternoon in England, and Gabe ought to be ready to take calls.

“May as well see if he ever managed to find the place,” Randall muttered with a grin. Slightly to his surprise Gabe was not only there but he answered the phone with a terse “What now?”

Randall stared at the phone. That was never his happy-go-lucky cousin, surely. He sounded as if the pressure had gotten to him already.

“Gabe?” he responded cautiously. “How’s it going, then? Are you all right?”

It was amazing how Gabe’s voice changed when he knew he was talking to Randall. “Of course I’m all right,” he said too quickly. “What do you think?”

“I just…thought you might need a little moral support,” Randall said cautiously.

“Well, I don’t. I’m fine. No problem,” Gabe said airily.

Randall ground his teeth. Trust Gabe to use his charm and get all the locals dancing to his tune on the first day.

“Nothing to worry about,” Gabe went on. “A child could do it.”

I’ll bet that’s meant as a dig at me, Randall thought.

“How are things at your end?” Gabe asked.

“Fine,” Randall declared, imitating Gabe’s airy tone. “Couldn’t be better.”

Couldn’t be better, he thought, except that Claire hates me for not being you, and the hands crease up every time I open my mouth, and the only one who doesn’t wish me dead is Susan.

He hung up with Gabe’s parting injunction, “Don’t call me again,” ringing in his ears. He wondered if Gabe could tell he’d been lying through his teeth.

Come to that, how much truth had Gabe been telling? He’d probably been lying, too.

The thought made Randall feel suddenly better. It might be uncharitable, but at least he wasn’t suffering alone. He was grinning as he picked up his jacket and headed for the door.

He opened it to find Claire standing there. “I came to see if you’d dressed up right,” she said.

“Gabe’s thickest shirt, old bean.” He held out his arms in display, and she came right into the room.

“What are you wearing underneath?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

She began to unbutton his shirt. For a moment Randall thought his wildest dreams were about to come true, but her brisk manner dispelled his hopes. She took his undershirt between her fingers, testing to see how many thicknesses she could find.

“You’re only wearing one undershirt,” she accused him.

“My dear gel, that’s winter long johns. Gabe warned me. And it’s cashmere, the warmest wool in the world.”

“Put two more on top of it. You want pneumonia? Socks cashmere as well?”

“The very finest.”

“Three pairs. You’ll need ’em.”

“You wouldn’t care to undress me and put them on, I suppose?” he asked. “I forgot to bring my nanny with me.”

“So I see.” She hesitated and added, as if reluctantly, “Be careful about Dave. Don’t get him mad.”

“I’m a big boy, Claire. I survived in the army. I think I’ll survive the hands.” He added wryly, “Whether I’ll survive you is another matter.”

“Is that an example of British humor?” she asked suspiciously.

“No, it’s called black humor. It’s for when your neck’s on the line.”

She was too cautious to answer this directly. “Hurry up. We want to be setting off.”

She departed in a whirlwind.

“Yes, ma’am!” Randall murmured, beginning to strip off.

As he worked he ground his teeth, annoyed with Gabe, annoyed with Claire but mostly annoyed with himself. The feel of her fingers unbuttoning his shirt had caused a flare in his loins that he would have denied if he could.

But he couldn’t. He tried to dismiss it: a knee-jerk reaction, inevitable when a woman opened your shirt, because your subconscious was remembering other occasions. Nothing at all if you looked at it rationally. But it had been there, a swift spurt of pleasure, fierce, hot and totally crazy. He was wearing long johns, for pete’s sake. And so was she, probably. Three pairs. Old men’s underwear.

But how would she look without it?

He pulled himself together and tried to think pure thoughts. But the memory of Claire’s womanly shape got in the way and the thoughts took on a life of their own.

Thank goodness it was freezing cold outside, he thought desperately. It needed to be.

When he’d added several extra layers of clothes he went down.

Monk, the horse they’d given him, was big and lively, but he’d handled tougher beasts in the Household Cavalry, and he and Jackson soon came to an understanding.

A white moonscape stretched before them as far as the eye could see. Beyond it were the mountains. The sun was brilliant on the snow. But the cold was bitter, and he silently gave thanks to Claire for making him put on the extra clothing. When he saw her glancing at him in mischievous enquiry he grinned and gave her a thumbs-up salute. Dave watched them through narrowed eyes.

Four gigantic horses stood ready, harnessed to a huge sled full of hay. A signal from Dave and they were off, over the silent landscape, now brilliant in the sun.

Randall began to enjoy himself almost at once. The Stantons had been landowners for centuries, and he was a countryman born and bred. Years spent in offices, staring at figures, seemed to fall away from him as he rode out that morning.

The haystacks were huge, and the hay had to be forked off them by sheer human effort. It was back-breaking work, but it reminded him how enjoyable it could be to feel his body alive with effort, the blood pounding through his veins as though he’d just come back to life after a long sleep.

The cattle knew why they were there, and crowded forward eagerly. Randall remembered his own cattle, his in the sense that he owned them, but in no other sense. Other men and women fed and tended them, knew them. Until this moment, he hadn’t felt that as a deprivation. Now he knew it was.

Sentimental nonsense! he tried to tell himself. But the thought wouldn’t go away.

On the way home Jackson made one last effort to be the boss. Randall gave him his head, controlling him lightly, enjoying the gallop. Then he heard hooves pounding beside him and realized that Claire was drawing level, making a race of it. He grinned and urged Jackson on.

Out of the corner of his eye he managed to watch Claire, controlling her enormous horse with confidence and grace, her eyes alight with purpose. Nothing fazed her, he realized with admiration.

He thought of Honoria, who insisted on riding only well-mannered horses, and would turn back halfway through the day because she’d broken a fingernail. Randall, who enjoyed a robust ride in the country, had found it irksome.

Suddenly Claire’s horse stumbled on some unseen obstacle in the snow. Alarmed, it reared up. Claire fought for control, but she’d been taken by surprise, and she fell to the ground, landing on her back with a crash that made Randall wince in sympathy.

“Claire!” he cried and turned back.

“I’m all right,” she yelled. “Get my horse.”

He seized the bridle so that she could let go and concentrate on scrambling to her feet. She wasn’t all right, he could see that. She moved like someone who was hurt and determined not to show it. But he guessed that any show of sympathy would madden her.

She remounted, patting the horse to show there were no hard feelings.

“I’m surprised you could get up at all,” Randall said.

She tried to shrug, and had to give up the attempt. “It’s nothing.”

The others caught up with them, and Dave pushed ahead to ride at Claire’s side. All the way back his voice was raised in a dreary recital about something or other. Randall didn’t bother listening to the words. His attention was for Claire, who was drooping slightly in her saddle.

He longed to push Dave aside and tell her she could lean on him. But he knew better than to try.

Three

Getting into bed that night Randall moved very, very carefully. He enjoyed an active life, but the day’s exertions had used muscles he wasn’t familiar with, and he ached all over.

At last he gave up the struggle to find a comfortable position and hauled himself painfully out of bed. Somewhere in this place they must keep some liniment. Preferably lots of it. He should have asked before he came upstairs, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Easing on his dressing gown he crept out into the corridor, wondering where was the best place to look. But as he made his way past Claire’s room he realized he’d reached the end of his search. The smell of liniment came unmistakably from behind her door.

Now he could hear painful little gasps, reminding him of how she’d fallen onto her back. She was trying to get to places she couldn’t reach, and it was hurting her.

He tapped softly. “Claire.”

The door opened a crack. Claire stood there, wrapped in a large towel.

“I’m looking for the liniment.” He gave her a friendly smile. “Some instinct made me look here.”

“I’ve just finished with it.”

“Are you sure? You must be bruised all over your back. Can’t I help-as one sufferer to another?” When she still hesitated he added, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

That won him a faint smile. “Sure.” She backed away to let him in, holding defiantly onto the towel.

He didn’t look around the room too obviously, but he noticed that the picture of Gabe had been removed from her bedside. She was protecting herself.

She sat down with her back to him, and he gently loosened the towel, drawing in his breath at what he saw.

“You’ve got the biggest bruise I’ve ever seen,” he exclaimed.

“Bet some of yours are bigger,” she said bravely.

“Bet they aren’t. Lie down, let me do this properly.” He saw her reluctance and said, “To hell with modesty! You’re going to be fit for nothing in the morning.”

“I feel fit for nothing now,” she sighed, stretching out on the bed.

He eased the towel down the length of her back, waiting for her to rally her defenses and tell him to stop right there. But she seemed too worn out to speak and he began gently rubbing liniment into her skin.

It was lovely skin, he couldn’t help noticing, pale and smooth. After her brusque mannerisms it came as a slight shock to find her body so softly rounded and feminine.

He began to wonder if he’d been wise to do this. Even with the ugly discoloration of the bruise, she was beautiful. Her back was long and elegant, tapering to a tiny waist and hips that flared into round, womanly curves.

He moved his hands rhythmically up and down her spine, trying not to hurt her. Trying even harder not to be too aware of her. But that was impossible.

“This will make you feel better,” he murmured. “What would we do without liniment, eh?”

“Well, we wouldn’t smell like horses, that’s for sure,” she said with a yawn.

“Yes, it’s a pity about the smell.”

If she were a horse, she would be a racehorse, he decided: with a proud, high-stepping beauty and a flowing red mane. Her hair had come loose and splayed over her shoulders. He pushed it aside and began kneading the back of her neck. She gave a little grunt of contentment that went straight to his heart, making him smile.

“Is that nice?”

“Mmm,” she said.

She raised an arm to pull her hair right out of the way, then rested her head on her elbow. He guessed she was growing too hazy to realize how the movement made the towel slip, and drew one glorious breast into view.

He forced his eyes away from the tantalizing sight, wondering what had possessed him to take such a risk. But the boyish clothes she wore had disguised the details that were designed to tempt a man. Now he realized that her breasts were heavy in proportion to the rest of her. In fact each one was just about the right size to fit into the palm of his hand.

He tried to force his thoughts away, but they were more rebellious than his eyes. They insisted on wandering over what he could see of her body, and even creeping under the towel to discover hidden secrets. He knew he should be ashamed, fight down the heat that was surging through his body, taking over from good resolutions. He drew a long breath, trying to subdue himself, but the part that was reacting most vigorously wasn’t amenable to thoughts.

“It wasn’t such a bad day,” he said, talking for the sake of it. “Bit rough, but I was expecting that.”

“Mmm!” she said.

“I’ll manage better now. Practice makes perfect and all that.” He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was burbling, saying anything, trying to hear the words through the roaring in his ears.

Get out before you do something that will make her slap your face!

“What’s the program for tomorrow?” he asked, smoothing his hands down to her waist and forcing himself to stop there. “Claire? Claire?”

Her breathing had deepened, telling him she was asleep. He froze, his hand still on her waist, shocked at himself. This had begun so innocently, but now his whole body was aroused. Claire rejected feminine wiles but without trying she was simply the sexiest woman he’d ever known.

But she was also the most vulnerable, especially now.

That’s how much you inspire her, he thought. You send her to sleep. Get out of here.

While he hesitated Claire gave a long sigh and moved very slightly, so that her skin slid against his hand, making his fingers drift involuntarily lower.

Involuntarily? Who was he trying to kid?

She settled down again, making a little contented sound in her throat, smiling a small secret smile.

For Gabe! he thought suddenly. She was dreaming that this was Gabe. If she awoke and found him there her sense of betrayal would be terrible.

Breathing hard, Randall rose to his feet and backed away. He found he was actually shaking from the force of the sensations that possessed him. He must put things right before there was a disaster.

But there was something he must do first. Moving carefully, not to awaken her, he pulled up the towel until it covered her again. Then he took the sheet and blankets that she’d pushed down, and inched them back into place, so that she would be kept warm.

When he was finished he backed out of the room and stood in the corridor, taking deep breaths.

It was only then that he remembered he’d left the liniment on her bedside table. He cursed but there was no help for it. Hell would freeze over before he risked going back in there.

He returned to his own cold, solitary bed and lay down to spend the rest of the night struggling with the pain of bruises and frustrated desire.

Randall was late coming down the next day. He’d finally fallen into a late doze and slept on. Susan explained that Claire had ordered that he shouldn’t be disturbed. The others had already gone out to work.

There was some sausage and bacon left. He would have been happy with it, but Susan insisted on cooking him a huge meal from scratch, and he didn’t have the heart to hurt her feelings.

Afterward he called Gabe. He’d been too easily put off by bright pleasantries the day before. They needed a serious talk.

But all he got was a young woman informing him that, “Mr. McBride is in conference with the advertising editor and does not wish to be disturbed.”

“But that doesn’t mean me. Tell him it’s Randall. I can give him a few wrinkles about advertising.”

There was a click and some muttering, then the secretary announced, “Mr. McBride thanks you for your call, but is unavailable.”

Randall breathed hard. What the hell did she mean, “Mr. McBride”? This was ol’ Gabe they were talking about. Wasn’t it?

“Then kindly give ‘Mr. McBride’ a message,” he said. “Tell him to stop playing the fool and come to the phone.”

More clicks and muttering. Then, “Mr. McBride says he will call you back.”

“Tell him to do that,” Randall said, incensed.

He was left staring at the receiver, wondering what sort of idiot game Gabe thought he was playing. He needed Randall’s help and advice, and he was damned well going to get it-just as soon as he answered the phone.

Looking around the house, he discovered a computer, and switched it on. As he’d expected, Gabe had treated himself to all the latest software.

“Are you any good with that thing?”

He turned to find Claire looking at him. Her face was neutral and there was nothing to be learned from it.

“Reasonably,” he said.

“Elaine does the accounts,” she said, “but I promised to keep them up-to-date while she’s gone.” She left the implication hanging in the air.

“I’m a dab hand with a spreadsheet.”

Luckily it was a program he knew. Claire showed him some invoices waiting to be entered, and soon he had the hang of Elaine’s system.

The hands began to drift in, full of amusement at his defection.

“Guess one day’s hard work was enough for you?” Dave said gleefully.

Randall shrugged, refusing to be provoked. “I was late getting to sleep,” he said.

Claire had avoided looking at him directly, but at this he sensed her whole body come alive. She was standing next to him and he was convinced, as surely as if he’d touched her, that the memory of last night was there in her flesh as well as her mind.

She knew what had happened as well as if he’d said the words, knew he’d lain awake most of the night, tormented by her. The awareness was like an erotic vibration coming from her, catching him up in its rhythm. It would have told him everything, even if he hadn’t been able to see the delicate pink come and go in her cheeks.

“I guess you’d just about had enough,” Dave chortled.

“Leave it, Dave,” Claire said quietly.

“Aw, c’mon-”

“I said leave it!”

The fierceness in her voice was like a burst from a flame-thrower. All the hands fell silent, astounded by an intensity they’d never seen in her before. They began to drift off, until Claire was alone with Randall.

“I’ll see Susan about some food,” she muttered and hurried into the kitchen.

Coward! Claire told herself furiously. Coward! Coward!

But she hadn’t wanted to be alone with Randall after that moment of revelation. She hadn’t wanted to see him this morning either, not after the hectic dreams that had tormented her last night. Dreams in which his hands were always on her body, touching her intimately as no man had ever touched her before. And she’d offered herself shamelessly to his caresses.

He’d been lucky to have lain awake, for the wakeful could control their thoughts. They didn’t return to consciousness burning with shame at the way desire had overcome them while they were helpless.

She’d told Susan to let him sleep because she couldn’t face him. That was the truth. He would be bound to look at her and know that she’d taken his brotherly help and wrought it into something else.

When she’d found him at the computer she’d felt relief. They could act normally, as though the moment had never happened. But she hadn’t allowed for the mutual consciousness that had possessed them, destroying her carefully built defenses.

And then there was Gabe, whom she loved, but whose image had never tormented her like this. He didn’t want her passion, so why did she feel as though she’d betrayed him?

In the days that followed Claire was careful never to be alone with Randall. Luckily North seemed willing to take him under his wing. Dave, who fancied himself as a wit, had taken a marked dislike to Randall, and had a stream of barbed remarks always at the ready.

Randall countered this by becoming more and more British. Nothing Dave said ever seemed to get under his skin. He would merely look at the hand from under languid eyelids, smile insufferably, and murmur, “I say, old bean-no really-”

It reduced North and Olly to fits, and it drove Dave wild.

Once Randall had casually mentioned that Gabe had taught him to use a rope. Dave had promptly challenged him to a contest and Randall had agreed before she could stop him.

“Dave’s the best for miles,” she told Randall urgently. “There’s no way you’re going to beat him.”

Randall had given her that strange look from under his eyelids and murmured, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

At first she thought this was just bravado. Randall’s roping skills could hardly be described as skills at all. What had possessed him to put them on display?

Dave’s mouth was twisted into a mean little smile, and he gave his braying laugh. “Guess it ain’t like being in the Household Cavalry,” he said gleefully.

“I’ll just have to practice,” Randall said meekly. “Let’s try again.”

He whirled the loop high and wide and it floated down to settle perfectly over Dave’s shoulders, pinioning his upper arms.

“Hey!”

“I say, I’m most awfully sorry. I’ll have it off you in just a jiffy.” Randall tugged at the line, apparently overcome by confusion.

“You’re just pulling it tighter,” Dave bawled.

“Oh dear, yes I am-if you’ll only keep still-”

“Let me go, you idiot!”

There were more snickers, but this time at Dave’s expense. Olly chortled openly, North grinned and Claire made choking noises.

At last Dave was freed. He glared malevolently at Randall. “You did that on purpose,” he raged. “You made a fool outa me.”

“My dear fellow, I wouldn’t try to improve on nature.”

“You-”

“Cut it out, both of you,” Claire said, barely smothering her laughter. “Come in and have something to eat.”

Luckily, Frank arrived just then, back from an errand in town, and in the introductions the moment passed.

But it wasn’t forgotten. Randall guessed that Dave could be a bad enemy, and he would have to watch his back.

Claire was beginning to realize that there was more than one type of man. There was the kind she’d always known out here, brash, up-front, rawly macho. And there was the kind who deflected an enemy with cool irony, endured quietly, but never yielded an inch, the kind whose apparent mildness covered steel. Randall’s kind.

He was a gentleman. Before this she’d never defined the word for herself, but the night he’d seen her half-naked might never have been for all the use he made of it. There were no sly hints, no attempts to make her uncomfortable with the memory. It was a delicacy of feeling that would have made the others hoot with derision, had they known.

But they didn’t know, and must never know. It would remain their secret, hers and Randall’s.

The discovery that they shared a secret alarmed her. It was a step toward an intimacy she didn’t want. She was very firm in her own mind about that.

But then, being human and contrary, she began to wonder if Randall’s gentlemanly restraint actually covered indifference. From there it was a short step to feeling offended. How dare he act as though it hadn’t happened!

She caught herself watching him. She tried not to, but her eyes refused to be controlled. They persisted in drifting toward him when they should have been elsewhere. They noted every inch of his big, graceful body, the outline of his thigh muscles against his jeans, the thickness of his neck and heavy shoulder muscles, the suggestion of power in his most careless movement.

That evening she came into the kitchen and found Randall helping Susan with the washing up she understood something else about him. He didn’t need to trumpet his masculinity because everything about him was so unmistakably male that his confidence came from deep within. The others could laugh if they liked. He would merely shrug.

“Go to bed, you must be tired,” she told Susan, gently edging her away from the sink and taking her place.

And Susan went like a lamb, concealing her smile. She knew what was what without needing it spelled out.

There were still plenty of dishes to wash, and in handing them to Randall to be dried Claire found their fingers touching more often than not. She could have simply placed the plates in the rack, but this didn’t seem to occur to her.

“You must be tired too,” Randall said gently. “You run this place, do a share of the housework and still come out working with us every day.”

“Trying to get me to stay at home?” she asked at once.

“Hey, don’t be so prickly. How about changing the routine and showing me some of the district?”

She concentrated on the sink. “North can show you. I’ll give him the day off.”

“I rather think Gabe would expect you to do the honors.”

Trapped, she thought dizzily. Forced to spend a day alone with him. She bent over the sink lest her happiness show in her face.

Next day they set out in the truck, headed for the little town of Marmot where Claire needed to pick up some supplies.

Marmot consisted of Main Street and little else. There was a drug store, a post office, a grocery, a meat locker, a hardware store and welding shop, an implement dealer, a few bars, a cafe, and a place that sold one of everything because that was all there was room for. Randall, accustomed to tiny English villages, was instantly at home.

The weather had improved. Snow still lay on the ground, but the sun was out and everywhere had a bright and cheerful appearance.

They went from store to store, collecting goods and introducing Randall. Everywhere there was the little start of amazement as people saw his face. When everything was loaded onto the truck Randall said casually, “I think I’ll let you treat me to a coffee.”

They found a little place, and she bought them both coffee and pie. When they were seated he realized how little he’d seen of her. This was the first time they’d been alone since the night he tended her, and he wondered if she was avoiding him.

How much did she remember from that night, and how did she remember it? In his fever of longing had he done something unforgivable?

She looked up quickly, met his eye and looked away. A soft, pink blush glowed in her cheeks, and the conviction grew on Randall that whatever he’d done it hadn’t been unforgivable.

A middle-aged man, called Joe, hovered, wanting to know if everything was okay. It was the third time he’d done this, so Randall lifted his head to give the man a good view of his face.

“That better?” he asked amiably, and Joe grinned.

“You gotta take him to the dance,” he told Claire. “Folk’ll just blow their minds.”

“What dance?” Randall asked.

“There’s one here every February,” Claire told him. “Just a few folk.”

“They come for miles,” Joe assured him. “And they’ll sure come to see him.”

“I seem to be the local entertainment,” Randall observed wryly. “Mustn’t disappoint them, so we’d better go to this dance.”

“We?”

“I can’t go alone. I shall need you to hold my hand and give me courage.”

“You don’t mean half the things you say,” Claire told him lightly. “I’ve learned that much.”

He didn’t answer in words, but raised one eyebrow quizzically. Suddenly she burst out laughing. It utterly transformed her face. Her eyes glowed, her cheeks were still rosy from the cold wind outside and for a moment she seemed the very essence of youth and life. Randall felt giddy. Gabe could have this fantastic, beautiful girl, and didn’t want her? Was he nuts?

“What are you laughing at?” he asked.

“You, raising one eyebrow. Do you remember when you were here before, Gabe envied you because you could do that? He could only manage both at once.”

“That’s right,” he said, remembering. “We had a contest.”

“I caught him practicing in front of the mirror, but he couldn’t manage it. He got so mad.”

She laughed again, and Randall joined in for the sheer pleasure of sharing it with her.

“The things that seem important when you’re eighteen,” he mused.

“Would you want to be eighteen again, Randall?” she asked.

He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I guess not. I’m not sure why. I was happy enough then, the way boys are happy, without thinking.”

“And aren’t you happy now?” The question came out before she could stop it.

He might have made some meaningless answer, but he found himself thinking, then answering honestly.

“Fairly. Nobody ever gets back that carefree feeling, but you don’t need it. You grow into a different person and other things start to matter.”

“You don’t mean that, about becoming a different person.”

“When I look back so far, I hardly recognize myself. Do you?”

“Yes,” she said with a touch of defiance. “But I guess I’m not changeable.”

He spotted the danger and stepped back from it quickly. Damn Gabe! Why did he have to get in everywhere?

“Let’s get going while the light’s still good,” he said.

She took the road up into the mountains. It was the way they’d come the first day, but then they’d been in semi-darkness. Now he could look around him and appreciate the glowing blue, white and black of the earth and sky.

“Stop here,” he said when they were at the highest point before the road began to slope down.

He got out and went to survey the magnificence around him. Claire came to stand beside him.

“If you look far over there, you can just about make out the ranch,” she said.

It was cold after the heated truck. He felt her shiver and put an arm around her. In the same moment he felt the sky and the mountains begin to whirl around him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

She held onto him. “The mountains affect some people like this.”

“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes.

“Randall, are you all right?” She touched his cheek lightly with her fingertips.

He took her hand in his and looked at it for a moment before drawing it against his mouth, and letting his lips brush against it lightly.

He hadn’t meant to do it-at least, he didn’t think he’d meant to-but he was still giddy, and not quite sure what he was doing. And then, suddenly, it was done, and he was aflame from the sweet touch of her hand on his mouth.

She was trembling in his arms and for a moment, standing on the edge of the snowy vastness, he could have done anything. Her lips were softly curved. Just looking at them drove him to madness, and in another moment they would be against his own-moving softly, enticing him, opening for him.

“Randall…” she whispered.

“Yes,” he muttered thickly.

“We-shouldn’t stand here in this wind-it’s dangerous.”

A tremor went through him. “You’re right,” he said at last, reluctantly. “We should be going home. It’s very dangerous here.”

Four

Where did the time go? One day he arrived at the MBbar, the next he went out with the hands, feeding stock, coming back aching all over. And then he fell into the rhythm of the work and the life of the ranch, so that it became not easy, but possible. A week slipped away, then two, and suddenly he’d been there a month.

Bit by bit he began to enjoy himself. In England he was subject to Earl’s endless demands that the business make more and more money. However long the hours he worked, he never felt he could satisfy the old man.

But here nobody expected anything of him. Or rather, they expected the worst, and there was pleasure in showing that he was as good a man as any of them, could fork hay as long and vigorously as they could, survive the cold, ask for no quarter. In Montana, Randall was finding his own level, not as the heir to an earldom, but as a man among men. It was a high level that gave him pride in himself.

And friendship. When had he last had time for that?

There was time now to make friends with Frank, a man he instinctively respected. Time to let Olly teach him to cheat at cards. Not that he would use that particular skill, but he appreciated the honor.

The friend he valued most was North. The young cowboy sought him out, asking questions about England and other countries Randall had visited, and listening avidly to the answers.

“Where do you come from?” Randall asked him once.

“Up north.”

“Hence the name? I mean, it’s not your real name?”

“Is now.”

Another time North observed, “Reckon you and me are alike. Neither one of us care what folks think.”

“Don’t I care?”

“Wouldn’t put on that dang fool voice if you did.”

“True.”

“Ain’t usin’ it now. Must have forgotten.”

“No use putting it on with you,” Randall pointed out. “You don’t fall for it.”

North merely grinned.

Randall began to be aware of the land. Though it was still hidden under the snow he found he’d developed a feel for it, almost as though it were his own.

Many a day he would rise and watch the dawn, when the world glowed pink and purple under the morning moon. And in the late afternoon he would slip out alone to see the sunset. The unbelievable beauty of the snow with the red and yellow light on it took his breath away.

Sometimes Claire would come and stand beside him, and they would watch together in silence. Once she asked, “Is it as lovely as this in England?”

“Yes,” he said. “But softer, more pastel colored.”

“Do you miss it?”

He thought of the pearly light over the corn, the gentle rustle of the stream he’d fished as a boy, the willow bowing its head into the water.

“Yes,” he said. “I miss it.”

And for once he wasn’t alive to her reaction, and didn’t see the look she gave him.

Another time, when the last light had almost gone, and a breathless hush lay on the land, Randall almost found the words to speak of the feelings that were growing in him, for her. But she spoke first, looking up into the sky.

“What do you think Gabe is doing now?” she whispered.

And his words died, unspoken.

His body, too long trapped behind a desk, grew iron hard under the rigors of winter work. He began to fill out, but it was muscle, not fat. There was a vibrancy about his flesh that made him alive to new sensations as he hadn’t been for years. And the sensation that plagued him most was his growing desire for Claire.

He’d wanted women before, but seldom felt such pressing desire for one he couldn’t have. The rare women who refused were casually asked and soon forgotten. But Claire was different. She mattered. Because she mattered, he minded that he couldn’t have her. And because he couldn’t have her, she mattered more than ever.

She enchanted him as no woman ever had. He loved-that is, he was attracted by-her defiant courage and her flashes of vulnerability. He was entranced at the way she tried not to find his British humor funny, and the little gurgle she gave when she was defeated. But what made his head spin with total delight was the feeling that something was about to happen between them. He didn’t know what, or when. But it was going to be momentous.

One night Randall was awoken by a sound downstairs. He listened and it came again, a kind of scratching. Pulling on jeans and a shirt he made his way along the corridor and halfway down the stairs to where he could see the big main room, lit by only one table lamp, beside the leather sofa.

North was by the bookshelf, going from book to book, studying titles with such fierce concentration that he didn’t hear Randall. At last he found what he was looking for, pulled it out and went to stretch out on the sofa. He glanced up as Randall came down the rest of the way.

“Mrs. McBride don’t mind me looking at her books,” he explained. “She says nobody else ever does.”

Randall collected the whiskey bottle and a couple of glasses. “Charles Dickens,” he said, observing the spine. “Great Expectations.”

“Began on him when I came here last summer. Goin’ through, book by book.”

Randall was startled. In all his time at Eton and Oxford he’d never come across anyone who read their way right through the collected works of Dickens even for study, let alone for pleasure. He put a glass of whiskey by North’s elbow, and settled himself comfortably in a leather armchair. The fire had burned low but it was still pleasantly warm.

North jabbed at the book. “I tell you, this guy knew how to tell a story. That Miss Havisham, she was just like my Aunt Nell. Ol’ Nellie took a shine to this fellow, had the weddin’ all set, then he rolled in the hay with her cousin.”

“Did she live in her wedding dress for twenty years?”

“Nope, but she threatened and cussed every man she saw after that. Kept a shotgun in the corner, ’case a man showed his face.”

Randall eyed him, fascinated. “How long will it take you to get right through Dickens?” he asked.

“Maybe until next summer,” North said. “Then I’ll go. Don’t like to hang around.”

They sipped their whiskey in companionable silence. Randall leaned back in the armchair and studied the ceiling.

“You really gonna ride Nailer tomorrow?” North asked after awhile.

“Guess so.”

Another long silence.

“You’re a fool,” North observed.

“Must be.”

“Know why he’s called Nailer?”

“Probably for something I’d rather not know about.”

“’Cause he’s a brute who’ll ‘nail ya’ if he can.”

“Reckoned it was something like that.”

“Wouldn’t ride him if I was you.”

“Yes, you would,” Randall said with conviction.

North considered this. “Guess I would at that,” he said at last. “But then I’m used to him. I know he throws to the left, so you gotta lean to the right.”

“Then won’t he start leaning to the right?”

“Nope, ’cause he’s stupid. Mean and stupid. And he likes to get you off in the first two seconds, ’fore you can settle. If he doesn’t manage that it gets him good ’n’ mad.”

“But do I want to get him good ’n’ mad?” Randall asked plaintively. “I’m shaking with fear as it is.”

“Yep, I noticed that,” North said with a grin.

“So what else can you tell me about Nailer?”

“Well, he-” North stopped and a cunning look came over his lean, amiable features. “Make a deal?”

“Anything you like.”

“No kiddin’. There’s something I want real bad.”

“Anything in my power.”

“But no telling the others, right?”

“It’ll be just between us,” Randall assured him, growing more mystified by the minute.

“’Cause they wouldn’t understand, and I don’t want folks thinkin’ I’m strange.”

Randall tore his hair. “North, will you just tell me?”

The young cowboy put up a callused hand to scratch his forehead. In the firelight his face looked like teak. He leaned closer to Randall like a conspirator.

“Can you get me some Jane Austen?”

Next morning Randall logged onto the internet, found an online book store and bought a complete set of Jane Austen, using his own credit card. He grinned as he thought how Dave and Olly would react to its arrival. “British wimp” would be the kindest thing they’d call him. But he would keep North’s secret. He owed him that much after all he’d learned the night before. Jane Austen had come up trumps in a big way.

Claire came in just as he was logging off.

“Why are they bringing Nailer out into the yard?” she demanded, aghast. “Don’t tell me you’re fool enough-”

“Fool enough for anything,” he confirmed.

“You don’t know what you’re doing. I’m putting a stop to this.”

Randall rose quickly and grabbed her arm as she made for the door. “You’ll do no such thing,” he said, assuming his most lordly “British” air. “My dear gel, I’ve committed myself, and the Stantons never back down from a challenge.”

“But you’ll break your neck.”

He lifted his chin. “Then I shall go down with honor!”

“Will you stop talking like that, you-you aristocrat!”

“Is that the worst you can find to call me?”

“For the moment, yes, but I’m working on it.”

“Try ‘toffee-nosed git’,” he teased.

“Dammit all!” Claire breathed. “Can’t I ever say anything that you mind about?”

Randall’s eyes held a curious alert expression. “That would hurt me, you mean?” he asked.

“No, I-of course I don’t-what do you think I-”

He touched her cheek with a gentle finger. “If you want to break my heart,” he said quietly, “you could do it far more easily than that.”

He strode off without waiting for her reply. Claire looked after him. Her pulse was racing and she was suddenly breathless.

Full of shame, she realized that she had been trying to hurt him. She’d been trying to do that ever since he arrived, punishing him for not being Gabe. Punishing Gabe.

But Gabe was far away from her thoughts right now. All she could hear was the soft drawl of Randall’s voice as he said-what? What had he really meant by those mysterious words about breaking his heart?

Who cared about Randall’s heart? Her own heart belonged to Gabe.

But she couldn’t resist touching her cheek, which seemed to burn where he’d caressed it. Then she hurried out after him.

The hands were waiting in the corral. Dave and Olly sat gleefully on the fence, Frank lounged against it, while North held Nailer’s reins. The huge brute stood still and silent, but Randall wasn’t fooled. This was one mean horse.

“Don’t forget everything I told you,” North murmured, so softly that only Randall could hear.

He nodded, took a deep breath and vaulted up into the saddle.

“Let him go.”

North complied and stepped back hastily. The next moment Randall felt as if the earth had heaved him off. He landed back in the saddle with a crash, just remembering to lean to the right. He gripped with his knees, but Nailer bucked violently again and sent him back up.

On the second landing, he tensed his knees faster and managed not to be thrown up so high the next time. Nailer bucked and bucked, always unseating him a little, but not enough to get him right off. And, as North had predicted, he was getting good ’n’ mad at not succeeding at once.

Then Randall made his mistake. Allowing himself a small feeling of triumph he lost concentration, and suddenly he was flying through the air, to crash into the ground with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of his body. He gasped violently, and fought for control, forcing himself up before he was ready. Anything rather than let them see he was winded.

His head was spinning but he managed to get to his feet. North had gotten hold of Nailer who was standing still again, apparently calm except for the heavy snorts that were coming from his nostrils. There was an evil glint in his eye, as though he was eager for another bout.

“He beat ya!” Dave chortled, getting down from the fence.

“The hell with that! I’m getting back on.”

“Look, we know you can’t make it-”

“Get out of my way!”

Something in Randall’s voice made Dave back off. As Randall vaulted back into the saddle North grinned and released the rein just in time to escape Nailer’s whirling hooves.

Now it felt like a battle to the death, with no quarter asked or given on either side.

Whenever Randall went down Nailer came up, colliding with him so hard that he wondered why his bones didn’t shatter to fragments. He gritted his teeth and hung on. Slowly, agonizingly he was getting into Nailer’s rhythm, and at last he could instinctively throw his weight into the right position for clinging on.

Despite the cold, the sweat was pouring down his face, into his eyes. Every part of him was aching. In fact he was hurting so much that he could no longer feel it. A twist of Nailer’s body brought Claire into sight. He had a brief glimpse of her with her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide, before Nailer twisted again, and he lost sight of her. He must stay on. There was no way he was giving up in front of Claire.

It was stalemate. The horse couldn’t get rid of him, but he wasn’t tiring. Randall began to feel desperate. For some reason winning this battle was the most important thing in the world right now.

Nailer’s violent movements brought him back within Claire’s range. And now he wondered if the ordeal was making him hallucinate, for he could almost have sworn that she was cheering him on. She vanished from sight too fast for him to be sure.

On and on it went until Randall thought it would never end. Just when he felt he was about to black out, Nailer came up with his final trick. He gave in, not slowing gradually but stopping so suddenly that Randall nearly went over his head. He clung on, wondering what had happened to the world that seemed to have reversed and started spinning in the opposite direction. When his head cleared he realized that he’d won.

North and Olly were dancing with glee, filling the air with ear-splitting shrieks. Dave glared. Claire had buried her face in her hands, but as Randall sat there, brushing the sweat out of his eyes, heaving like a set of bellows and feeling as if his body was about to fall apart, she lifted her head.

Her eyes were shining. She was all aglow with some inner radiance that was for him. An answering light came on inside Randall. Had any man ever been looked at like that before?

It took all the strength he had left to get off Nailer without collapsing. The ground swayed again as his feet touched it, but North was there to steady him. He would have taken charge of Nailer, but Randall tossed the reins to Dave.

“Put him away for me, old thing,” he requested languidly, and walked away toward the house. He would have liked to adopt a nonchalant saunter, but his lower half was completely numb and it was as much as he could do to stay upright.

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and then Claire was at his side. Without a word she drew his arm about her shoulders, and felt him lean hard on her.

“I never thought you’d do it,” she said, exhilarated.

As soon as the door closed behind them he staged a mock collapse. Laughing, she put both arms about him and helped him to a chair.

“I’ll get something for your head,” she said.

“Uh-uh!” He was too wrapped up in the feel of her arms around his body to concentrate on her words. He felt light-headed.

She helped him off with his shirt and undershirt, exclaimed over his discolored body, and fetched a bowl of water. Randall became aware that blood was trickling down his face.

“That was a nasty fall you took,” she murmured as she sponged him. “You’d better see the doctor, fast.”

“No way. I shall eat my breakfast and then come out to work.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Do you realize nobody has ever ridden Nailer first time before? Even Gabe had to give up the first time. ’Course, he was younger then,” she added quickly.

“Of course,” Randall said, entranced by her nearness and her fresh, flowery smell.

“There’s a good doctor in town,” she went on. “I’ll drive you in.”

“Claire, I can’t do that,” he said seriously. “I’ve got to carry on as normal, just like the others would. Surely you can see why?”

“But you might have cracked a rib,” she pleaded. “Or worse.”

“I don’t think so.” He felt his rib cage carefully. “Seems OK to me. See what you think.”

She set the sponge down and began to feel him gently. She’d treated enough broken bones on the ranch to know at once that he was right. But her hands didn’t know how to let him go. They lingered on the thickness of his torso, taking far longer than they needed to.

There was a light dusting of hair over his chest-she’d wondered about that. His muscles were as firm as any cowhand’s, and his skin was warm.

He was still heaving from his exertions, and Claire felt the movement of his rib cage against her fingers. She wanted to go on exploring, and the desire shocked her.

“You-don’t seem to have any damage,” she said at last.

“Not to my ribs,” he said.

He spoke so quietly that she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She looked up quickly to find him regarding her with a look that made her suddenly aware how strongly her heart was beating.

Reluctantly, she let him go. She was full of confusion and nothing made sense anymore. She dabbed at his head again, but distractedly, and there was a distant look in her eyes.

“No blue blood,” Randall joked. “It’s the same color as yours.”

She gave a brief smile. “I was a pain, wasn’t I?”

“Just a little prejudiced at first. I guess I understand that.”

“No you don’t,” she said quickly. “It was just-well, never mind. I’m not used to strangers.”

“How long can a man be a stranger?” he asked.

“Guess you haven’t been a stranger for a while now,” she said quietly.

How soft her mouth was, he thought, when she dropped her guard. How badly he wanted to kiss it! In another moment he would throw caution to the wind, lean forward, and it would happen. He drew a sharp breath. His pulses were racing. It was a long time since the mere prospect of a woman’s kiss had filled him with such anticipation. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he’d last had to tread so carefully. The girls at home were only too eager to attract Lord Randall’s interest.

“Claire-”

She turned on him a defenseless smile that destroyed his resolve. She was too easily hurt. Everything mattered so much to her. He couldn’t kiss her, knowing he would go away in a few weeks.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said reluctantly. “Can you give me a hand up the stairs?”

“You want me to rub some liniment in your bruises?”

“Most of them are in a place I’d better see to myself,” he said wryly, and felt his heart lurch at the sound of her chuckle.

That night they had a celebration. Frank arrived with his wife and grown daughter. Susan outdid herself with the cooking, the hands cheered Randall-at least, North and Olly did-and Claire produced some of Gabe’s best wine.

During the day Randall had come to a decision about Claire. His growing attraction to her was threatening to get out of control, and he had to fight it. Not for his own sake, for hers. Only recently he might have regarded her armored heart as a challenge, but he’d seen how easily she could be hurt and it had altered him. Nothing in the world looked quite the same anymore. Time to call a halt, before it was too late.

There was nobody to warn him that when a man started saying things like that, it was already too late. But when he saw Claire come down actually wearing a dress, he knew his good resolution was going to be harder than he’d reckoned.

It was a simple, old-fashioned dress, made of flowered cotton, with a fitted waist and a slightly flared skirt. Randall’s fashionable lady friends would have screamed with laughter.

But he didn’t feel like laughing. He was too busy catching his breath at the sight of the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. He’d already known that Claire had long legs. Now he discovered that she had slender ankles and shapely calves, and when she moved her hips the dress fluttered this way and that, whispering promises.

She’d brushed her glorious red hair until it shone, and caught it back lightly in a loose, twisted braid. She was like a pre-Raphaelite goddess, risen from the earth, smelling of spice and honey, arms outstretched to the sun.

Randall caught himself up on the thought. He’d never been a fanciful man, and this was a helluva time to start.

With two extra women the evening turned into an impromptu dance. Someone put a tape on, and Randall danced with Frank’s wife and daughter. And after that, of course, it was his plain duty to dance with Claire. She was his hostess and it would have been rude not to.

He tried to be strong. Remembering his resolve, he waited until the music turned lively, and everyone “danced” by bouncing around, doing whatever they liked. He held her hand while she twirled, and felt her brush against him, and each time it was like an electric shock.

But suddenly the music changed to a sweet waltz, and then no power on earth could have stopped him taking her in his arms. When he felt the softness of her slim form against his, he knew he’d been waiting for this moment forever, and no amount of good resolutions would be any use.

Despite her boyish ways she was as light and feminine as a fairy in his arms, moving softly and with an instinctive grace that enticed him to fit his movements to hers.

Wasn’t dancing supposed to be a substitute for making love? If so, it was a very poor substitute. He was achingly aware of her body beneath the clothes that he would have liked to strip away. Were her breasts really as heavy and beautiful as he recalled from that one glimpse? And would he ever discover the truth?

He knew he was holding her too close, or was it that she was pressing herself against him? Looking into her eyes, he found them fixed on him, hazy with wonder. He smiled, and when she smiled back it felt as though she was kissing him, opening the sweet, womanly mouth that tantalized him and…

The music stopped. Claire sighed, looking as if she’d just come out of a trance. Randall released her before they could attract attention, but when she slipped away to the kitchen he followed her. She was stacking dishes, moving as though only half aware what she was doing. He drew her firmly away from the sink and into his arms. His mouth found hers and locked onto it as though his life depended on it.

For a moment he felt her hesitate, as though her mind was resisting what her flesh wanted. Then she relaxed against him.

She was as sweet as honey, and as heady as wine. He might never have kissed a woman before, so different was this one. If only the others in there would go to perdition and leave him alone with her, to do what he’d been wanting to do since the first moment.

His tongue found the inside of her mouth, felt her accept him eagerly. Her body was pressed against him and he was intensely aware of her shape. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, all of her, everywhere his hands could reach.

It was exactly ten hours, thirty-five minutes and twenty seconds since Randall had vowed never to do this. Now it might have been another life.

A shout from the big room warned him that someone was about to come in.

“Damn,” he said unsteadily. “Claire…”

“Hush, let me go,” she pleaded.

“Later-”

She didn’t have a chance to answer. Suddenly the kitchen was full of people.

Surrounding Claire, bearing her away, leaving Randall wondering how much more of this he could stand.

Five

When the party was over and she was alone, Claire put on a heavy coat and slipped out of the kitchen into the snow, hoping the freezing air would calm her down.

Nothing made any sense. The conviction that had sustained her for years-that no man in the world could mean more to her than Gabe-was tottering. It was as though some mighty power had taken her life by the scruff of the neck and shaken it, and her, until everything was a new shape.

She wasn’t sure about the new shape. Nothing about it was familiar. But oh, it was sweet, with a poignant sweetness she hadn’t experienced since the year she discovered she was in love with Gabe, and known it was only a matter of time before he loved her back.

Only he never had. And now she knew he never would.

She’d tried to believe that Gabe’s brotherly affection was inching toward the kind of love she wanted from him. When he’d tired of the others he would come home to her. That was what she’d told herself.

But her first experience of true passion in Randall’s arms had blown that illusion away, leaving her stranded in a vacuum, not knowing what lay behind or before her. Not knowing what she wanted. But Randall had whispered, “Later…” and she had replied, “Yes.”

If they’d been alone in the house she knew what would have happened next. It was as inevitable as night following day, but only because they both wanted it.

Now it really was night. Randall had gone up to his room, and he would be waiting for the sound of her foot on the stairs.

“Thinks he’s pretty clever, doesn’t he?”

She jumped. Dave was standing there, evidently having just come out from the bunkhouse. He moved nearer to her and she could see, as well as hear, his bitterness.

“The great English lord?” he sneered. “Passing the time with the local wenches. That’s what they call it over there, ain’t it?”

“Shut up, Dave!” she said firmly. “You know nothing about him.”

“Aw, c’mon. We all had him sized up from the start.”

“You had him sized up as a wimp,” she reminded him. “But he rode Nailer the first time. Took you three goes.”

“Any fool can ride a horse.”

“But Randall’s no fool,” she said quietly.

“Right!” Dave seized on this. “He’s got that lordly estate to keep up, and he’s got to marry a girl with blue blood. What color’s yours, Claire?”

She turned bitter, burning eyes on him, and Dave took a hasty step back in the snow. Who would have thought Claire could look like that over any man?

“I’m just talking as your friend,” he said, trying to regain lost ground. “I’d hate to see you hurt. ’Sides, I thought it was ol’ Gabe you were sweet on-”

“Stop it!” Claire said, speaking so fiercely that Randall, standing at his window just above, heard her and pushed the window open. Looking out into the chill night he heard her say, “Don’t ever dare speak to me about Gabe.”

“Hell, you know how I feel about you, Claire-thought maybe it could be my turn. I’ve waited long enough.”

At the window above, Randall tensed at the sounds of a scuffle, as though Dave’s lust had overcome his manners. Looking down he could just make out the two figures struggling outside the kitchen door, and hear Claire mutter, “Get off me!”

The next moment Randall was out of his room and tearing down the stairs, racing to the rescue of his lady.

But he made it only as far as the kitchen. Even from outside he could hear the sound of a sharp slap, and Dave’s yelp of pain and surprise. Then Dave staggered into the kitchen. Randall had a brief glimpse of him clutching his face, before he backed away into the main room, hoping Dave hadn’t seen him in the darkness.

Standing there, unknown to either of them, he grinned at his own folly in thinking of Claire as a damsel in distress who needed his help. What a right hook she must have! What a girl!

Claire’s voice grew clearer, as though she’d followed Dave inside. “You get out of here right now,” she raged. “And don’t ever come smarming around me again.”

“Hell, I’m sorry,” Dave mumbled. “I just thought-”

“No, you didn’t,” she said crossly. “You don’t know how. All you can do is jump to conclusions. Get this straight. I’m in no danger from Randall. Maybe he is just passing the time, and maybe so am I. Lord knows, he looks enough like Gabe!”

“You mean-”

“Yes, I do. It’s always been Gabe for me, and it always will be. I’m telling you that to get rid of your stupid ideas, and if you repeat it to a living soul I’ll box your ears so hard your head won’t stop ringing for a week. Now get out.”

When Dave had scuttled away to the bunkhouse Claire shut the outer kitchen door firmly behind him. She was shaking, and on the verge of tears, but she refused to cry.

Dave’s words about Randall had struck home so painfully that she’d said the first thing she thought of to put him off the scent, not knowing whether it was true or not.

She’d always loved Gabe. But it was the memory of Randall’s lips on hers that made the fierce heat start up inside her. Gabe had never kissed her, never looked at her with the ardor she’d seen in Randall’s eyes. Perhaps if he had…

Oh, she couldn’t think of Gabe right now. He seemed so far away, not just in distance, but as though he was no more than a vaguely remembered dream. It was Randall who mattered, Randall who was here now, whose kisses sent her mindless with need, and who was waiting for her upstairs now…

As she stood in the darkness, trembling with the force of her emotions, she thought she heard a sound from the next room, but when she went in and switched on the light, there was nobody there.

Because he was no saint, but a very human man, Randall’s reaction to the news that Claire’s heart still belonged to Gabe contained as much pique and annoyance as pain.

She’d been teasing him. And after his good resolutions about her! Not that they had amounted to much. But for what he’d overheard he knew he would have taken Claire to his bed and made love to her until they were both exhausted. The thought of it made him ache still.

The next day, Claire didn’t mention the fact that he hadn’t gone to her room that night, and nor did he. He could hardly tell her that he’d heard what she said to Dave. She was probably relieved that he hadn’t showed up.

The one he was really mad at was Gabe, who’d gotten in the way just when he wasn’t wanted.

He called his cousin on his bedroom phone, and reached him easily enough. But Gabe bent his ear with a long description of Freddie Crossman and her children. Randall liked the Crossman family but he hadn’t thought there was so much to be said about them. He wondered if Gabe knew that he said Freddie every second word.

He came off the phone, thoughtful.

Downstairs he found Claire struggling with the computer.

“I’ve just called Gabe,” he said, when he’d finished sorting out her problem.

“Oh, yes. Has he bankrupted you yet?” she asked cheerfully.

“If he has, he was careful not to mention it.” A thought struck him. “I’m not sure I really care. It all seems a long way away. It’ll feel strange to go back.”

“Did Gabe mention when he was coming home?”

“No, we never got around to that.” He was suddenly reluctant to pursue that subject.

“He can’t leave it too long,” Claire said. “It’ll be spring soon, and that’s when the real work starts.”

“What we’ve been doing isn’t real work?” Randall asked plaintively.

“You think this is work? Just wait until we start calving. Then it’s up at all hours, checking, fretting, delivering calves when the mammas can’t do it on their own. We’re always exhausted. But there’s nothing like it. Nothing like being there when a newborn calf takes its first breath, when you’ve made a difference, when-” She checked herself. “Of course, you won’t be here, will you?”

“No,” he said abruptly.

Then, because he couldn’t think what to say next, he went away.

That became the pattern over the next few days. They would talk about something that seemed safe. Then one of them would stumble and bring the conversation to an abrupt end. She never asked him why he hadn’t come to her room that night, and he never broached the subject. Everything between them was unresolved, and likely to remain so forever, as the day of his departure neared.

Strangely, it was easier to communicate when they were not alone. He discovered that when she came in late one evening, when he was talking to North about the MBbar.

“I understand now why Gabe once told me he couldn’t live anywhere else,” Randall was saying. “I feel that way about my own land.”

“Yours? Thought you were just the heir,” North said.

“I am, but I rent one of my grandfather’s farms. I hardly see it because I’m chasing newspapers all the time, but I keep promising myself I’ll go back to farming for good.”

“Why don’t you?” Claire asked, pouring them both whiskey, and settling down on the floor, by the fire.

“Well, I can hardly let the old man down. His publishing empire means so much to him. So I let it drift, promising myself, next year, and next year.”

He sighed, looking into the drink.

“Now I feel like a man who found the right woman, deserted her, then found he’d made a mistake.”

The words hung between them. North looked from one to the other, but Claire’s eyes were on the fire, not Randall.

“It’s easy to make some kinds of mistakes,” she said.

“And some you spend your life paying for,” Randall agreed quietly. “It can be hard to know what you really want, and sometimes you only find out when it’s too late. And you think-if you’d done something sooner-”

“But maybe you can’t,” Claire interrupted. “We don’t really have any say, do we? Things happen, and we react, but it’s never really up to us. It’s like someone’s pulling the strings and having a good laugh.”

“Hell, Claire,” North said in alarm. “You’re a philosopher.”

She laughed shakily. “Nobody ever called me that before.”

“Philosophy doesn’t solve any problems,” Randall said. “Only feelings do that.”

It seemed a good moment for North to slip away, leaving them alone. And he did. But when he’d gone, Claire said awkwardly, “Well, I suppose it’s about time to be turning in.”

“Yes, it must be. Goodnight, Claire.”

“Goodnight, Randall.”

That’s how it was between them these days.

On the night of the dance Randall presented himself downstairs, hoping he looked right.

North was there, sunk deep in Jane Austen, which he’d carefully covered in brown paper. He jumped, but relaxed when he saw it was only Randall. Randall grinned.

North eyed the soft flannel plaid shirt. “That’ll do.”

“It’s Gabe’s.”

“I know. Claire gave it to him last birthday.”

“Oh, lord!” But before Randall could go up to change it Claire appeared on the stairs and both men turned, dumbstruck.

She’d swapped the flowered cotton for an olive-green silk that followed the lines of her figure with flattering emphasis. North indulged in a long, fervent wolf whistle.

“Claire, when you buy a new dress, you sure buy a new dress!” he exclaimed.

“It’s not new,” Claire said quickly. “I’ve had it over a year.”

North frowned. “Could have sworn I saw it in that catalogue you got two weeks back, and-”

“You’ve got shaving cream on your cheek,” she interrupted him.

It wouldn’t do to let Randall suspect how she’d pored over the pages of that catalogue, trying to find just the dress that he might admire: how she’d paid an extra charge to be sure it arrived on time, how she’d agonized in case it didn’t fit.

But it had got there in good time, the fit was perfect and Randall was smiling at her in a way that made her tremble.

“You look beautiful, Claire,” he said softly. “Really beautiful.”

“Do I look like those fashionable ladies you know back home?” she couldn’t resist asking.

“Not a bit,” he replied. “Thank goodness.”

The late February dance was the big event in the locality, a kind of promise that spring wasn’t far away. Everybody went, including Susan, and there wasn’t a vehicle left on the MBbar.

Frank called with his family, to collect Dave. North drove Susan and Olly in an old sedan that was kept for emergencies. Randall and Claire went in the truck.

“What’s that book North keeps hiding under the cushions?” she asked when they were out on the road.

“Leave a man his secrets,” Randall said with a grin.

“But it’s in a brown wrapper. North isn’t reading porn, is he?”

At this Randall shouted with laughter.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Randall, what is it?”

“I can’t tell you-I promised-” He went off into another paroxysm of mirth, and the next second he’d lost control of the truck.

For a few hairy moments they spun on the icy road. He heard Claire gasp, and he prayed frantically, wrestling with the wheel. But it was more luck than driving that brought them to rest against a tree with a jolt that sent her sprawling against him.

“Claire?” he said in fear. “Are you all right?” His arms were tight about her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “What’s a little bump?”

He clasped her more firmly. “I thought we were both goners then.”

“Mmm.” She knew she should move, but it was so comfortable here in his arms, and instead of releasing herself, she rested her head on Randall’s shoulders.

“Claire?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you really want to go to this dance?”

“No,” she said dreamily. “I don’t.”

“Neither do I.”

They sat in silence for some moments, letting the alarm of the moment before die down, just enjoying themselves.

“Shall we go back?” he said, so softly that he wondered if she heard him. She didn’t answer in words, but she lifted her head, and nodded.

They drove back in silence. The house, too, was silent when they reached it, and growing chilly as the fire burned low. Randall piled on some logs and the flames flickered up, throwing dancing shadows over Claire’s face, for they hadn’t put the lights on.

Randall put his arms right around her and drew her close.

“Claire,” he said thickly. “Claire, I-”

“Don’t talk,” she whispered. “We’ve both said too much, and it only makes problems.”

“But are you sure-?”

“Hush,” she silenced him with the touch of her mouth.

They kissed feverishly, but it was only a brief prelude to what was to come. They both knew now that they couldn’t stop at kissing. The feeling of their mouths in contact only increased the need to touch each other everywhere.

They chose her room, the place where he had first seen her half-naked, first wanted her with a crazy longing that had given him no peace ever since. It had been physical then. Just physical. Wanting to touch the soft hills and valleys of her contours, wanting to caress her intimately, to claim and conquer.

But somewhere along the line it had become more. When had it begun to be so important to win her stubborn, contrary heart? And would he win it like this?

He would know in the morning. But that was a long way off.

The lovely dress, so carefully chosen, slipped to the floor. Claire barely noticed. It had done all she asked of it. Every inch of her was fevered with longing. She must have him, and soon. Only the feel of his body united with hers could ease the ache of need that had been growing in her for weeks. She wanted to touch him everywhere, with her hands, her lips, her breasts, her thighs.

At some point Randall had removed his shirt, and when he drew her against him and she felt the silky hair of his chest, it excited her still more.

His hands moved up until he could cup her breasts in his palms, letting his thumbs drift slowly across their fullness again and again. The sensation was so good that Claire drew a long shuddering breath. Her nipples were peaked and hard with anticipation, and the pleasure radiated out from the rasping movements.

She was aware of his body tensed against hers, the stomach hard and flat, the thighs steely with power. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of that power. He was her first man, but she was no ignorant girl. The sheer force of her feelings for Randall had taught her what it was like to be caught up in desire, possessed by it, altered beyond recognition by it.

His lips burned her shoulders and she let out a long breath. Randall heard it and thought he understood.

“Claire-do you want me?” he murmured.

“Yes-” she said raggedly. She could hardly speak the word for the roaring in her ears.

“Let me hear you say it,” he commanded.

“I want you-”

She wasn’t sure whether she’d said the words aloud, for her whole body seemed to be saying them in its clamorous response. She wanted him. She wanted him now.

Her arms seemed to find their way about his neck of their own accord, and she was kissing him frantically, trying to drive him on to the thing she craved with all her being.

“Randall,” she whispered, “Randall-”

Some new note he heard in her voice seemed to decide him. He began to toss aside the rest of his clothes, and she quickly did the same. When they were both free he drew her down onto the bed. After his earlier urgency he seemed content now to take his time, enjoying her with his eyes and his hands.

He rested his face between her breasts, pressing his mouth against the silky skin, bestowing light kisses and exploring until his lips touched one proud nipple and began to tease it. She thought she would go out of her mind with that sensation. Her breath came in long, slow gasps that shaded into groans, and she wove her fingers in his hair, pleading, yearning, demanding.

His response was to insert his knee between her legs which fell apart for him. She gasped as she felt his movements become more purposeful.

Slowly, with a fierce, controlled power, he entered her. As she felt him drive in deeply Claire knew that this had been inevitable from the first moment, and that it was right. She arched against him, wanting more. He was triumphant, but so was she as they did the thing for which they’d both been born. She held him close, wrapping her thighs about him, imprisoning him for her delight.

He watched her out of dark brooding eyes, her hair spread out over the pillow, her face wild with ecstasy. Her soft moans of pleasure excited him further. “Claire-”

His thrusts became deeper, harder. All his power was now concentrated on being one with her. She was lost to everything but this, driving back against him in mindless delirium, asking and giving. They were two halves of a whole, perfectly attuned to each other, finding completion together. The moment, when it came, was shattering, a long, ecstatic climax in mounting waves of pleasure that peaked and crashed, fading away and leaving them trembling. Claire cried out and clung to him, hearing his voice in her ear, saying her name over and over.

As they parted he held her more tightly than ever, not wanting the moment to pass. And she clung to him, as though she needed him to hold her hand to the end of the journey. Randall knew she’d given him what she’d offered no other man. Gabe might have been her first love, but he’d been too dumb to value her. So she’d turned to Randall, who did, pouring out lavish gifts of beauty and passion that awed and humbled him. He wondered if she had any regrets, but soon she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him.

It was too dark to make out her expression, but he could see a faint glint in her eye, and hear her soft chuckle.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked in delight.

“Nothing. I’m just happy.”

He pulled her down, feeling her long hair flow over him like a river.

“Be happy, Claire,” he said. “Be happy forever. If only-”

He stopped, entranced by the sound of a gentle snore. Claire was as natural and simple as a young animal that sated itself, and fell asleep, at one with the world.

Possessed by tenderness, he stroked her hair. He, too, was happy, in a way that he’d thought he would never know.

From some mysterious place a memory came back to him. Claire saying, “We don’t really have any say, do we…like someone’s pulling the strings and having a good laugh.”

And he’d said, “Philosophy doesn’t solve any problems. Only feelings do that.”

He wondered suddenly if the feelings of love and passion, mixed in with protectiveness, that consumed him now, would solve any problems.

Or whether some nameless deity was having a good laugh. And if so, what about?

At dawn Claire was awoken by a distant noise. She padded out of bed and opened the bedroom door. Sure enough, the phone was ringing. Pulling on her dressing gown she left Randall sleeping and padded down the corridor to his bedroom, where the nearest extension was situated.

“Lord Randall, please!” said a female voice.

Claire drew in a sharp breath. There it was, the English “toffee” voice she’d so resented in Randall-except that he didn’t really sound anything like that.

“Are you there?” asked the woman sharply. “Kindly fetch Lord Randall for me.”

“He’s asleep. It’s early here.”

“Oh, I see. Are you the housekeeper?”

“No, I live here. My name is Claire.”

“Really. I’m the Honorable Honoria Gracewell. I expect Randall has told you about me.”

“No,” Claire said in a hollow voice. “He hasn’t mentioned you.”

“Never mind. This can’t wait. I must speak to Randall urgently. I might have known there’d be a disaster when he went swanning off to the back of beyond.”

“A disaster?”

“Well I certainly don’t want to be related to Frederica Crossman. The Stantons do have a position to keep up.”

“Does she make it hard for them to do that?” Claire asked tersely.

“She certainly will if she’s allowed to marry Gabe McBride. Randall should be here to put a stop to it.”

“Did you say-marry Gabe?”

“They’re announcing it today, bold as brass. And the wedding’s set for three weeks. I suppose she wants to make sure of him while she can.”

Claire sat down suddenly. Gabe was getting married.

“Are you there?” Honoria demanded sharply.

Claire pulled herself together. But it took an effort to speak. “This Frederica Crossman-what’s she like?”

“A widow with two children. Respectable enough, but not out of the top drawer.”

“But how will you be related to her if she marries Gabe?”

“Because he’s Randall’s cousin, and Randall and I-this is hardly your business, is it? The point is that the Stantons don’t marry nobodies.”

“But Gabe isn’t a Stanton,” Claire said, a tad sharply.

“I suppose you’ve got a point. Maybe his wife doesn’t matter too much, especially if he takes her back to Tennessee, or Wyoming-”

“Montana,” Claire snapped.

“Wherever. But Randall’s wife does matter. Eventually she’ll be Lady Stanton, a Countess, holder of one of the oldest titles in England-”

“That’s not what Randall says,” Claire couldn’t resist interrupting. “He says the Stantons are a load of jumped-up nobodies who bought the title a mere four-hundred years ago, and-”

Honoria’s intake of breath was as sharp as a knife.

“Randall will have his little joke,” she said in a tight voice. “Countess Stanton has to come from suitable stock, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand-”

“Hell yes, I understand,” Claire said. The twang in her voice had become emphatic to the point of parody. If this snooty woman thought she was talking to a backwoods hick then Claire would give her hick with bells on. “That’s just what we say when we’re breeding cows.”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“Suitable stock. Nothin’ like it. ’Course you’ve got to know your bloodlines. We keep charts. Is that what you do?”

“I-”

“Hell, Gabe don’t never buy a bull ’cept he knows his pedigree. Why, we’ve got one now, biggest thing y’ever saw, with the most eee-nor-mous-”

Honoria audibly gulped. “There’s no need to go into detail. Just tell Randall to call-”

“No need, ma’am, here he is.”

Randall had awoken to find Claire missing, and followed the sound of her voice, puzzled as to why she was talking the worst stage Yankee he’d ever heard.

“Phone for you,” she said. Thrusting the receiver into his hand, she fled.

North, who’d just arrived sleepily in the stables, was alarmed to see her dash in, saddle her horse and ride off as if the fiends from hell were after her.

She rode hard until the ranch house was out of sight and far behind her. She stopped in a clump of trees, tethered the animal, and looked around for something vehement to do. She found it in a lone tree that stood fifty feet away. Snatching up some stones, she aimed them at the tree and had the satisfaction of scoring a bull’s-eye with every one.

Then she sat down on a log and buried her face in her hands. What was she doing, throwing stones like a man? She ought to cry or something, like other females did. But everything about her was wrong. It always had been. She didn’t know who she was or where she belonged. She’d learned all the wrong skills, and she’d never felt so much like a foundling in her life.

Gabe was getting married, and so was Randall. For she hadn’t missed Honoria’s silver-tongued message. They were engaged, near as dammit. She was blue-blooded, and “suitable” to be an earl’s wife. A lot more suitable than a woman who didn’t know who her Ma and Pa were.

She couldn’t blame Randall for last night. Her desire had more than matched his, and she’d gone eagerly into his arms, meeting passion with passion, spurring him on, driven by an instinct beyond reason.

She’d had her moment when love was everything, and she would treasure it forever. But before her eyes rose the vision of the long years, filled with nothing because she was apart from Randall.

And apart from Gabe. And if only she knew which one of them she minded about most, it would be easier. Wouldn’t it?

No, nothing would ever make it easier.

Six

Randall reacted to Honoria’s news with a roar of delight, which affronted her even more. She told him so, at length.

“Hang on there,” he said when he could stem her tirade, “Gabe’s a grown man. He knows what suits him. If he’s found the right woman at last, that’s the best thing for him.”

“The right woman? No name, and no money. You should come home and stop it.”

“I’ll come home when I’m good ’n’ ready. As for trying to stop that crazy Gabe from doing what he’s set his heart on-forget it. I’m not ready to die.”

“Oh, really!” Honoria made a sound that would have been a snort if she hadn’t been an “Hon”. “You’ve always had a streak of foolishness, and he’s made it worse.”

“Either that or he’s brought out the best in me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. You don’t really approve of me either, and you’ll disapprove of me even more as I am now.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Let’s say I’ve rediscovered my roots, and not a moment before time. All that society life you like so much, shopping till you drop, dressing to kill, spending hours mouthing polite nothings to people I never want to see again-it’s not for me. From now on I’m spending my days squelching through mud, breeding calves, smelling like a barnyard and loving every minute of it.”

“You sound exactly like that creature who answered the phone,” she said in disgust.

“Yes, I do, don’t I?” he said happily.

“Well, I don’t know what’s come over you since you’ve been there.”

“I’ll tell you what’s come over me, Honoria. I’ve become a cowboy. And you know what else? I enjoy being a cowboy. And I’m going to stay a cowboy when I get back to England.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” she said in a tight voice.

“I didn’t think you would. ’Bye, Honoria. It’s lucky we found out in time.”

When Honoria had slammed the phone down, Randall promptly telephoned Gabe. Instinct made him pick the dower house number.

“You old son of a gun!” he greeted him. “So you got roped and branded at last.”

“How do you know?” Gabe yelled. “I was going to enjoy telling you myself.”

“Honoria’s just been on. She wants me to forbid the banns.”

Gabe roared with laughter. But abruptly he became serious again. “Does Claire know?”

“I don’t-” Randall remembered Claire’s distraught face as she handed him the phone and escaped. “I think so.”

“She used to have a kind of crush on me,” Gabe said awkwardly. “She’s probably forgotten about it now.”

“Yes,” Randall agreed, wishing he could be so sure.

“Can you make sure she’s all right?”

“Sure,” Randall said with more confidence than he felt.

He met North in the yard. “Did you see Claire?”

“She rode off.”

“How did she look?”

“Like she wanted to cry and couldn’t.”

Randall got the directions from North and rode out after Claire. He found her after awhile, still sitting on the tree stump, with a mulish look on her face. His heart ached for her, but he knew better than to offend her with outright sympathy.

“What the devil was that accent for?” he demanded, sitting beside her.

“She thought I was a hick,” Claire said grumpily. “So I gave her hick.” She remembered that Honoria was Randall’s as-good-as fiancée. “Was she offended?”

“No, she’s just mad at Gabe, and at me for not stopping him. As though anyone could stop Gabe doing what he wants.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. Claire let him draw her close until her head rested on his shoulder, and he ventured to drop a soft kiss on her bright hair.

Gabe was a fool, he reckoned, not to have snapped Claire up when he had the chance. Randall liked Freddie, but how dull she seemed beside Claire, who was fierce, thorny, sexy-and utterly adorable.

“That’s right,” she said with a sigh. “Nobody ever stopped Gabe doing anything. Nobody ever made him do anything, either.”

“Otherwise you’d have made him marry you ages ago,” he said. When she looked at him quickly he said, “I know, Claire. I’ve always known how you felt for Gabe.”

“Made a fool of myself, you mean,” she said gruffly.

“Will you stop putting yourself down? You’re a wonderful woman, and I think he’s crazy not to be in love with you.”

She shrugged. “Freddie Crossman’s got something I haven’t. What’s she like, Randall?”

He tried to remember. “Pretty, gentle…”

“Sweet and feminine?” Claire challenged.

“Well-yes-”

“Charming?”

“I suppose so.”

“I’m not any of those things. I tried to be what Gabe wanted. I can rope and ride almost as well as he can. But he just saw me as his sister-or his brother.”

“Does it matter so much that he loves someone else?” Randall asked sadly. “What about us, last night? Was I just a substitute for Gabe?”

“Of course not,” she said a little too quickly. “But you don’t love me either.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel. Claire, listen.” He took hold of her shoulders and shook her a little. “You’ve got this fixation that you’re unlovable just because you didn’t get the man you always wanted. But did you ever lift your head and notice any other man? Did you give the rest of us a chance? This ranch isn’t the whole world, and Gabe McBride isn’t the only man in the universe. He just thinks he is.”

She gave a watery, unconvinced smile. Touched, Randall caressed her face with his fingertips. “You were in such a rush to tell me that I don’t love you. Did you ever think you might have that wrong?”

She shook her head. “Don’t, Randall. You should have told me about Honoria at the start-before we-”

“Before we made love?”

“Whatever it was that we did.”

“It was love that we made. You know that, don’t you?”

She looked at him defiantly. “Does your fiancée know it?”

“My what?”

“The Horrible Honoria. She as good as told me you were engaged.”

“Oh, did she! And you believed her?”

“She’d hardly have said you were engaged if you weren’t.”

“She’s been saying it for years. It makes her mad that I won’t say it, too. But I’m not in love with her, any more than she is with me. It’s only the title she wants.”

“I don’t understand that,” Claire said simply.

And she really didn’t, he realized. Her directness and honesty were like fresh air after the society hothouse where he’d been trapped most of his life.

“Can you understand this?” he asked urgently. “I love you, and I want to marry you.”

Something leapt in her, but the next moment something else held back.

“Randall, you don’t have to wed me because you bed me,” she said awkwardly.

“Is that all you think I- Claire, sometimes I could wring your neck.”

“Great! And you want to marry me.”

“Yes, I do, you impossible woman. I love you, and I want you to tell me that you love me. Me, not Gabe. I want you to say it was me in your bed last night.” His jealousy rose up suddenly. “Go on, say it!” he shouted. “Say it was my face you saw, not his.”

“How do I know when they’re both the same?” The terrible words flashed out before she could stop them.

She could have bitten her tongue out. Yet it had to be said. Nothing in life had come easy to Claire. She’d never before needed to analyze her own feelings, and the effort confused her now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, anguished at the sight of the pain on his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know-yes, I do-I love you, Randall, I do, it’s just-”

“It’s just that you still love Gabe,” he said bitterly.

“I don’t know,” she cried. “I’ve always loved him. When I heard that he was going to be married, I wanted to die. But when I thought you were going to be married, I wanted to die, too.

“I can’t marry you. How can I be a proper wife, feeling like this. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”

“And you never will know if you stay here,” he said angrily. “Claire, don’t you realize, Gabe is bringing his wife home? How can you stay at the ranch, watching them together day after day, torturing yourself-?”

“I won’t. Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to hang around like some damned poor relation. I’m good at what I do. I’ll never be out of a job.”

“Fine,” he said angrily. “Spend the rest of your life drifting all over Montana with nothing and no one to call your own. It’s obviously better than a life with me.”

Claire’s eyes blazed. “Well, I’ll be all right. I’m strong, I can cope with anything. And I don’t want you to marry me as an act of charity.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Drifting all over Montana, as you put it, will be a great life. I’ll be me, what I really am, not pretending to be Lady Randall Stanton.” She saw his white face and added more gently, “That’s something I never could be, Randall. I couldn’t do all that fancy stuff, knowing what to call folk and where to sit them-”

“Rubbish!” he said furiously. “You can learn all that, it’s just a veneer and it doesn’t matter. What matters is loving someone and being at one with them-knowing they value the same things you do-like us.”

“Do you?” she asked wistfully. “You’ve been here six weeks. Maybe you’ve just lost your way. When you get back to England you’ll find it again.” She touched his hand for a brief moment. “I think you should go home soon, Randall. It’s been lovely, but we’re just too different.”

“We’re not different at all. We were born and raised thousands of miles apart, but inside, we’re the same. Can’t you understand that?”

Dumbly she shook her head.

His heart was too heavy to speak again and they returned in silence. Claire wondered if Randall was angry, but he was past that. He was brooding over his appalling picture of her life to come, moving on from one place to another, rootless, lonely, never quite belonging anywhere. While the man who loved her pined uselessly on the other side of the Atlantic.

As soon as he got back to the ranch he put through another call to Gabe.

“Hell, Randall? Haven’t you got anything better to do than call me up? What’s wrong now? Is my best bull dead?”

“Your bull’s fine. I’m not. It’s Claire. I’m in love with her.”

“Oh, boy!”

“I thought I could make her forget all about you. Hell, that shouldn’t have been difficult.” He heard Gabe’s appreciative chuckle down the line. “But I can’t.”

“You mean you offered her the Stanton land and titles and she turned them down?”

“That’s right. She turned them down. And me.”

“Well, she always was prickly as a thorn bush.”

“She damned well is not!” Randall said furiously. “That’s just an act she put on for you, and if you’d ever bothered to look at her properly you’d know that she’s sweet and vulnerable, and full of stubborn pride so she hates people to know how easily she’s hurt and-”

“Whoa. Hold on there.” Gabe whistled through his teeth. “You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve got it bad,” Randall said heavily. “This is one time the Stanton lands and titles are no use to me at all.”

“Wait,” Gabe said quickly. “I’m thinking.”

In his mind’s eye he was seeing two young boys, pricking their fingers, letting the blood mingle, and swearing eternal brotherhood.

From the ends of the earth to save each other! Which one of them had said that? Did it matter?

A glimpse of Freddie moving about the house reminded him just how much he owed his cousin. By sending him here, where he would meet the perfect woman, he’d saved Gabe from a life growing increasingly empty. With hindsight, he could see that.

Now it was time for Randall’s blood brother to save him in return.

“Don’t move,” he said urgently, “Stay right where you are.”

When he’d put the phone down he reached for Freddie. “Fred, how’d you like to go to Montana a little bit sooner than scheduled?”

“How soon?”

“Now.”

Waiting for Gabe at Bozeman Airport, Randall wondered how he’d let himself be persuaded to stay over. He should have been on the next flight back to England by now. But, as Gabe said, it would have looked rude if he’d vanished before the happy couple arrived. He had a feeling that Gabe was manipulating him, but he couldn’t work out how.

As soon as he saw them he knew that Gabe was subtly different. Some of his brashness had gone and he radiated fulfillment and content. Beside him, Freddie was brimming with happiness.

And the kids, Charlie and Emma! All over Gabe, acting like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Randall kissed Freddie on the cheek and congratulated her. “Of course I shall expect you to go back and work out three months’ notice,” he said, straight-faced.

“Go jump in the lake,” Gabe told him amiably, and everyone laughed.

But Randall had a strange ache in his heart as he watched them, so happy together. It seemed this kind of happiness was to be denied him.

Somehow they all squeezed into the sedan. On the way back to the ranch Gabe sat with his arm about Freddie, who watched, enthralled, as the scenery unfolded. Here and there the snow was beginning to fade, offering the first hint of spring and new life.

A new life for all of them, Randall thought, listening to the children’s excited exclamations, and the contented murmurs of the lovers.

But not for him.

Claire came out of the house as soon as she heard them. Gabe was coming home with his future wife. This was the moment she’d waited for, dreaded, for years.

She saw Gabe get out and reach inside to give his hand to Freddie, saw the tender way he looked at her, and waited for the surge of pain.

There was nothing.

The pain came when she saw Gabe and Randall standing together. Now she could see that their likeness was superficial. Susan had been right of course. Randall was far the handsomer of the two. Plus he had a gleam in his eye that could turn her insides to water, and a touch that could make her forget everything in the world.

She realized that Gabe was striding toward her, arms wide in greeting. She returned his hug, glad to see her brother again.

Supper was a big bash, with everyone there to meet Freddie and the children. Claire showed her around the house. She found she liked her a lot.

Nevertheless, Claire knew she would have to move on soon. She couldn’t live in this house with Gabe, who would remind her constantly of Randall.

She went to bed early, leaving the rest of them talking downstairs. They wouldn’t miss her, she thought. She didn’t see Randall’s eyes follow her until she was out of sight.

The next morning his bags were packed and he was all ready to go. But there was one last thing to do. He went to the study and lifted the phone.

“Randall, m’boy,” Earl’s voice boomed along the lines from England, “nice to hear from you. Gabe says you’re coming home.”

“That’s right. Today.”

“It’ll be grand to have you back. Gabe’s done a fine job in Devon, and it’s given me some ideas for the next paper I’m going to take over-”

“Earl, listen to me,” Randall interrupted him firmly. “I’m returning to England, not to the firm. Publishing just isn’t in my blood, but the land is. I know that now. I’m leaving the firm and going back to the farm I rent from you. I’m going to be a hands-on farmer, and make the place the best in the country.”

Earl snorted indignantly. “And I suppose you’ve got designs on the Abbey, eh? Want to be ‘hands on’ there too?”

“The Abbey belongs to you.”

“No, no, a man should do a job properly if he’s going to do it at all. You’ve got a contract with the firm. I could keep you there another six months. My condition for releasing you is that you take over the running of the Abbey. I’ll leave everything in your hands. Never liked country life myself, but you prefer it, don’t you?”

“I always did.”

He could have cheered at the way Earl had come up trumps. He was going back to his roots, the place he belonged. Only one thing was wrong. He’d found the perfect wife, both for himself and the way he wanted to live. But he wasn’t perfect for her.

Claire hurried in. “You’re going right now?” she asked.

“It’s best. You know why as well as I do. I guess there are some things that aren’t meant to work. Too much stands in the way, however much we might want-”

“Yes,” she said, trying to sound bright. She was doing the right thing for Randall, she was sure of it. And yet…

“You won’t mind if I don’t come to the airport, will you?” she said. “There’s a lot to do.”

“Sure, I understand. North’s going to drive me in.”

“Not Gabe?”

“Gabe’s too busy showing Freddie and the kids around. Claire-”

“It’s all right,” she said tensely. “It’s fine, honestly. Goodbye.” Her mouth twisted and she added, ironically, “Your lordship.”

“Don’t call me that. There are no lordships between us.”

“But there should have been. You have your life and I have mine. We shouldn’t have forgotten.”

“No,” he said heavily.

He felt crushed by disappointment. Whatever Gabe had hoped to achieve by coming home, it hadn’t worked. Claire’s love for him was a barrier that Randall couldn’t overcome.

He went to find his cousin. Gabe and Freddie came out onto the step when North drove up in the truck and helped Randall toss his gear aboard.

The goodbyes were stiff and awkward. Nobody felt at ease. Claire was the first to turn away and go inside.

“Let’s go,” North said. “We’re late.”

He slammed the door, and the next minute they were gone.

“So that’s that,” Gabe said with a sigh. “I had it all wrong.”

“How do you know?” Freddie demanded indignantly. “You haven’t confronted the real issue since we got here.”

“I haven’t? What about them?”

“Well, you can’t expect them to be rational, can you?” Freddie pointed out logically. “Not when they’re in love.”

“So what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Ask her.”

“What? If she still loves me? How can I?” he asked in alarm. “How can I go up to Claire and ask her a thing like that? I’ll sound like a conceited jerk.”

“What does it matter what you sound like as long as those two find each other before it’s too late?”

“It’s embarrassing,” he complained.

Freddie smiled and took hold of his arm, looking into his face in a way he loved.

“You don’t want me to think my man is a coward, do you?”

“Hell, no!” He headed for the door, then turned back. “But you stay close,” he instructed her. “Just in case.”

Gabe found Claire in the kitchen.

“Well,” he said. “Happy now?”

Claire turned and gave him an artificially bright smile. “Of course, I’m happy. You’re home.”

“And I’m getting married.”

“I know that.”

“It doesn’t…bother you?”

“Why should it? You’re my brother…sort of. It’s not like I’m going to pine away.” She turned away from him then.

He stepped around so he could see her face. “Not about me, anyway.”

She gave him a fierce glare. “What’s that mean?”

“Fallen in love with Randall, haven’t you?” His voice was gentle.

“Of course not.”

“You never could lie to save your life.”

“And you always had to be a big-mouth and spell it out.” She spun away from him again, but he came after her.

“Why not? Why should I let you wreck your life?”

“I’d be wrecking his life if I…if I…”

“Married him?” He slipped an arm around her shoulder.

Claire tried to shrug him off. “I’m not going to marry him!”

“Why not? Don’t you love him?”

She gave up. He was right. She’d never been able to lie to him. “Oh Gabe, of course I love him, but it wouldn’t work. He thinks it would because this place got to him, but when he’s in England, he’ll change back again.”

“Will you let the man do his own thinking, for crying out loud? He’s decided that he wants you to be his wife, and who the hell are you to tell him he’s wrong?”

“But-”

“He’s in love with you. But he thinks you’re hung up about me.”

“You?” She sounded amazed, as though the idea had never occurred to her. “Gabe, I’ve never been in love with you. Oh, I might have had a bit of a crush when I was too young to have any judgement.”

“Thanks,” he said with a grin.

A muffled giggle from behind the door told him that Freddie was enjoying every word.

“But Randall,” Claire went on, “he’s a real-I mean, there’s just no comparison-”

“OK, no need to go into details. I get your drift. So why aren’t you on that plane with him?”

“Because he doesn’t really love me, he just felt sorry for me.”

“There you go again, telling folk what to think. If you aren’t the most awkward brat I ever knew! You always were and you always will be. God help Randall when you’re married!”

“We’re not going to be married.”

“Oh yes you are!” Gabe said firmly. “I owe Randall a favor, and I’m going to repay it. Now, some folks might think it wasn’t much of a favor to land him with you, but if that’s what he’s crazy enough to want, that’s what he’s going to have.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Don’t you give me orders,” Claire seethed.

“Fine, have it your way! Stand on your pride. Let him go. That man worships you, but don’t you worry about that. Go ahead and waste your life and serve you right for being a stubborn, pigheaded-”

The next moment he was reeling from a sisterly slap on the cheek. But he was back in a flash, swinging her around and returning the slap on her rear.

“I hate to interrupt,” Freddie said from the door, “but are you two going to waste time fighting, or are you going after Randall?”

The combatants stared at her.

“Have we got time?” Claire asked wildly.

“Leave it to me,” Gabe said grimly. “Move!”

The two of them piled into the sedan, and in seconds Gabe was swinging it out of the yard.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch them up on the road,” he assured her.

“Will we?” Claire asked anxiously. “North was driving very fast. He said they were late.”

Going through the mountains, driving as fast as Gabe dared on the freezing roads, they saw no sign of the truck. Claire ground her nails together, sure that they would arrive too late.

“We’ve still got half an hour before his plane leaves.” Gabe tried to sound reassuring.

At last the airport was in sight. As they drove in Claire saw the truck, with North about to get in for the return journey. Gabe screeched to a halt, and she almost fell out in her haste.

“Randall,” she cried, running into the terminal. “Randall!”

Far up ahead she could see him, just about to go into the departure lounge.

“Randall!” Her scream carried the length of the building, and-oh thank God!-he heard it and turned, saw her.

“Claire!”

Randall began to run back to her. He didn’t have to ask why she’d come. It was there in her face, alight with love, her arms open to enfold him and hold him forever.

He dropped his bags so that he had his hands free to seize her in a fervent embrace and draw her fiercely against him.

“You mustn’t leave me,” she said frantically. “I love you, I love you-Randall, you mustn’t-” The rest was cut off.

“What about Gabe?” he asked when he could breathe.

“Who’s Gabe? It’s you I love. Only you. I knew that as soon as I saw you together. Gabe was a dream, and it was over long ago. When I thought you’d gone without me, and I’d never see you again, I couldn’t bear it.”

“All those things you were worried about-they seemed so important to you.”

“They don’t matter at all. The only thing that matters is being with you. I know that now. Tell me I haven’t left it too late.”

“It could never be too late,” he said fervently. “I’d have waited all my life for you to come to me, because we belong together. I knew that, but you didn’t seem to. Now I have you, I’ll never let you go.”

The final call came for his flight.

“Randall!” she cried in terror.

“Let it leave. Now I’ve found you I’m not letting you out of my sight. We’re going back to the ranch for as long as it takes for you to get a passport. When you’ve got one, we’ll go to England together, to see my grandfather.”

He bent and kissed her again, gently this time.

“Then we’re going to get married,” he said, “and live happily ever after.”

Epilogue

“Right. Everybody hold it right there.” Olly squinted through the camera at the sea of faces in front of the enormous Christmas tree. “You there, Charlie. Take that hat off.”

Grumbling under his breath, Charlie removed the cowboy hat. But he scowled only until he saw that Gabe had taken his off, too.

“That’s better. And you sit still, Miss Emma. We’ll get them presents opened soon enough.” Olly focused again. “Gabe, quitcher nibblin’ on your wife’s ear.”

“Just trying to make her smile,” Gabe protested innocently.

“You’re trying to get me in trouble with Olly,” Freddie accused, laughing.

“Well, he wouldn’t be our Gabe if he didn’t cause some kind of ruckus,” Randall said tolerantly.

“Like you’re so well-behaved yourself.” Claire nudged her husband in the ribs. “Who was waggling his fingers behind Gabe’s head five minutes ago?”

“I was not!” Randall protested, laughing.

Gabe gave him a stern look. “You’re supposed to be the well-behaved cousin.”

“I am,” Randall said piously.

“Are not.”

“Am so.”

They looked like they’d enjoy nothing more than a wrestling match to settle the issue, so Freddie intervened. “You both have to be well-behaved now,” she said sternly.

“To set an example,” Claire agreed, “for the children.”

Not just Charlie and Emma, but the new children.

“This year’s crop,” Olly called them.

The babies. Philip Randall Cedric McBride and David Gabriel Cedric McBride, the twins born to Gabe and Freddie in early November. And James Gabriel Cedric Stanton and William Randall Cedric Stanton, the twins born to Randall and Claire just a week later.

“Four of ’em,” Earl said every chance he could get. “Who’d have believed?” His chest swelled with pride, as though he’d accomplished the feat all by himself.

Now he sat in center place, Randall and Claire, Gabe and Freddie, Charlie and Emma, Elaine and Martha all gathered around him. And on his lap, four babies.

“That’s right,” Olly said. “Now, smile.”

They smiled.

Olly squinted, he focused. He lowered the camera again. “Earl,” he said. “You’re fidgetin’.”

“I’m adjusting,” Earl corrected. “I’m afraid I’m being-dampened.” He cast a fond, albeit slightly desperate, look down at his four great-grandsons.

“Oh, dear,” Freddie said. She reached for Philip and David.

“Oh, gosh,” Claire said. She reached for James and William.

“Oh, good grief,” Olly said. “This family ain’t never goin’ to have its picture took.”

Finally, however, it did. The babies were dry again. Everyone gathered around again. They all smiled again. All except Earl who didn’t just smile but beamed, his arms full of descendants, his heart full of pride and joy.

And then the gifts were opened, the turkey was carved, the cattle were fed and finally everyone but Earl and Gabe and Randall declared it a wonderful day and trundled off to bed.

“Don’t be long,” Freddie said, lingering on the bottom step to give Gabe a kiss.

“Count on it.”

“I love you,” she told him. “This has been the best year of my life.”

“Mine, too,” he said, and knew it was the truth.

In the kitchen Claire slipped her arms around Randall and gave him a hug. “This has been the most wonderful day. I’m so glad we came back for Christmas.”

“Me, too. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He kissed her hungrily, then reluctantly stepped back. “Gabe and I are going to have a whiskey with Earl, then I’ll be up. Stay awake for me?”

He knew it was a lot to ask. James and William did their share of keeping Claire awake these days.

“Always,” Claire promised.

He went into the living room and Gabe handed him a whiskey as he settled into one of the leather armchairs in front of the fire. Gabe handed another to Earl, then sat down opposite and stretched out his legs. He sighed.

“Worn out?” Earl asked. He was smiling. He never stopped smiling these days.

“Little ragged around the edges,” Gabe admitted. “Be nice when the boys start sleepin’ through the night.”

“Amen,” Randall said. He lifted his glass to that.

“They’re a right handful,” Earl agreed. “Two handfuls.” He chuckled, pleased. “Did you see the way Philip was smiling tonight? I’m sure it was a smile. He’s old enough to start smiling. David, too. I’d swear he giggled at me. And that James has got a twinkle in his eye. Right smart laddie, our James. Goin’ to be a fine earl someday. And little William. His eyes follow me everywhere I move. I swear those are the smartest, finest grandbabies a man could have.

“You two ought to be thanking your old grandfather. Weren’t for me you’d still be slaving away on all those newspapers, Randall. All work and no play. And you’d still be a shiftless run-around eight-second cowboy, Gabriel. All play and no work. So, what do you have to say for yourselves, lads? Lads?”

He looked from one to the other. Gabe’s whiskey, untouched, sat on the coffee table. Gabe’s eyes were closed. He emitted a soft snore. A glance in Randall’s direction showed Randall doing exactly the same.

Earl sipped his whiskey and looked into the fire, and then at his grandsons. What a difference a year made. He smiled. Then he raised his glass to them both.

“To the finest pair of scoundrels a grandfather could have. Blood brothers,” he remembered fondly. Then his smile broadened and he lifted his glass once more.

“To Philip, David, James and William. And, of course, Charlie and Emma.” Couldn’t forget Charlie and Emma. “Reckon you’ll give your dads a run for their money, blood brothers-and sister-of the next generation.”