A Silver Lining (11 page)

"Your parents—"

"Believed him. At least my dad did. My mother didn't want to upset my dad any further, so she said nothing."

The tears burned her skin. She quickly wiped them away, ashamed of the weakness.

He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark, searching. Unreadable. She had no clue to the thoughts tumbling in his head. But did it matter? Did she really care about his opinion of her?

Why did she tell him about that part of her past anyway? It had been a door she never opened, so why did she feel the need to unlock it now?

"You don't believe you asked for that, do you?"

She pulled out of his arms, sitting up to wrap her arms around her knees. “I tried ignoring what everyone said about me, but if you live with a lie long enough, then the truth disappears."

"Heather—"

"At first I was hurt, disappointed in my parents, in the teachers at school, in me. But then I got angry, and I don't know how to let go of that anger. I've learned that I can use sex to get anything I want, that if I play the bad girl everyone expects me to be, then I don't have to fulfill any expectations."

Tristan placed his hands on the sides of her face and turned her to look at him. She thrust out her chin and compressed her lips, defiance oozing out of every pore. But the look in his eyes took her breath away. Compassion, warmth, admiration. What she didn't see was pity, condemnation, disappointment, or mistrust, everything that she had expected to see shining back at her.

It made her heart soar. It thawed the ice that had frozen her deep inside.

Their lips came together softly. His thumb rubbed against her chin, a light caress that encouraged her to open for him. His tongue swept in, meeting hers in a dance. His lips moved over hers in a sensual rhythm that slowly built in need.

But with a little shove, he fell back on the bed, and she quickly straddled him, giving him a kiss made to burn. She raised his arms and held them above his head with one of hers. At any moment he could easily take over, dominate her, but he must have sensed that she needed to be in control, right now after sharing so much of herself.

"Keep your hands up,” she ordered.

He obliged, grabbing hold of the headboard as she let go to explore his hardened body.

She ran her hands over his chest, his arms, touching everywhere she could reach. She pinched his nipples until he squirmed deliciously. She kissed and nipped her way over his jaw, licking the salty sweat from his skin.

Even though he had hit his forties, he really didn't show any signs of aging. His abs were firm, contoured, with a sprinkling of hair that condensed into a line that ran to his groin. His cock had surged back to life and lay curved upward, almost long enough to touch his navel. A drop of precum glistened at the tip, and she bent her head to lick it.

Tristan groaned, and his hips shifted a bit, but he still held firm to the headboard. Encouraged, she took his cock in her hands and felt the stickiness of their encounter. She licked more, tasting him, tasting herself. It jumped like it had a mind of its own.

His hair encircled the base, wiry against her hand as she held him up to her mouth. She swallowed him, sucking hard, the tip hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed against her gag reflex and relaxed the muscle. Up and down she slid her mouth. Tristan kept moaning, and his hips kept moving, so she straddled his legs and held his hips down to keep him still. She wanted his torture. She wanted his pleasure to be uncontrollable.

"Stop, or I'm going to come in your mouth,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

"Then come,” she said.

"No. I want to be in you."

The mental image blossomed in her mind, and suddenly she was so turned on she couldn't think straight. All she wanted was his big cock stuffed inside her, so she pulled back and shifted her hips higher, holding his large cock in her hands as she sank onto him.

Both arched in hot, primal lust at the sensation. Heather put her hands on his pecs as she started to ride him, slow at first, but quickly building the tempo. She rocked against him, feeling him deep inside. She felt his thigh muscles clench every time she impaled herself onto him. Over and over she pumped herself, and her own muscles started to burn with the ride.

Heather threw back her head. She felt her hair tickle her ass. Tristan must have liked the sensation as well, because he bucked at the tickling swish of the strands over the tops of his legs. He started trembling. She felt his cock twitch and expand inside.

Sweat ran off their bodies, making the skin slick. Heather reached down between them to find her clit. She flicked it once, gave it a pinch, and exploded just as he slammed up hard.

She screamed in pleasure, and as her pussy clamped down on him, Tristan groaned deep in his throat as his orgasm broke. He finally let go of the headboard to grab her hips. He slammed her down once, twice, then held her still a third time as his cum filled her.

She collapsed on top of him. Boneless. Sated.

"Jesus, woman,” he managed to say as he sucked in a lungful of air, “you could kill a hard-working cowboy."

She smiled against his slick chest.

He put his arms around her, nestling her into his body.

For the first time in her life, Heather relaxed into the arms of a man, feeling safe. Warm. Home.

"I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

And just that quickly, her ease and comfort disappeared.

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Why?

Why had he said that?

Why did he have to ruin everything?

What could he possible love about her?

Heather paced back and forth in the stable, the only place she felt comfortable enough to go and walk out her agitation. The horses stared at her curiously, but she ignored them, the four questions swirling around in her brain until a headache blossomed between her eyes.

Fuck!

She yanked out the crushed pack of cigarettes and lighter from her back pocket, glad that she had an unbroken one left. She put it to her lips and lit it, dragging in a lungful of sweet smoke, instantly relaxing as the nicotine hit her system.

It had to be the postcoital bliss that had him mumbling that drivel, because no way could he have fallen in love with her in three weeks! Could he? And if he really did love her, what did she feel toward him?

She'd never been in love, had never really believed in the notion of it. But Tristan was something completely different, something she'd never experienced before. He infuriated her, but he also calmed her. He knew just what to say to push all her buttons, good and bad. When she wasn't around him, she thought about him. She looked forward every morning to that moment when he walked in for breakfast.

And the sex was amazing.

Was this love?

Well, whatever it may be, his declaration had to be addressed. Didn't it? Maybe it would be better to wait and see what he would say to her in the morning light. Perhaps it would be best to pretend she hadn't heard him. Be cautious.

Heather took a deep breath, satisfied with the decision she had reached. Yes, it was definitely better to hold on and see if he even remembered what he'd said right after his orgasm.

Without thought she flicked the cigarette butt away and marched out of the stable, proud of her logical conclusion. The sun had just broken over the western horizon and men started mingling around, preparing for the day. A cacophony of animal sounds rose around her, and she smiled at the familiar noise.

"Fire!"

Heather spun toward the sound and saw white smoke spiraling out of the stable's open doors. Her eyes widened as fear and disbelief suffused her body, numbing her mind. Her feet couldn't move even though people rushed by her. The ranch hands swarmed around like ants, and she heard the stables rafter sprinklers turn on.

Tristan came running from his trailer and halted next to her.

"What the hell happened?"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

He gave her a cold glare before running off to help. Heather stood frozen, her mouth hanging slightly open, the sound of terrified animals tearing at her heart. She watched as men started hacking with axes at one wall free of fire, working hard until they were able to get in and get the animals out. She watched with anxious eyes until she saw her mare come out unharmed, and then her bones melted, and she fell to her knees in relief.

Her relief, though, was short-lived. Seconds later Tristan yanked her by the arm, making her stand in front of him. His face blazed with fury.

"I told you to never smoke in the barns, Heather!” He shook her. “Goddamn you! We could have lost the horses!"

"I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking!"

"Obviously!” He let go of her and turned away. He swept off his hat to run a hand through his thick hair. “I don't understand you. Why the fuck are you smoking out here?"

"Because of you!” He stared at her in shock. “Why did you have to say you loved me? Why did you have to ruin everything?"

"How did I ruin it, Heather?” he shouted back. “Maybe because you love me too? Was that not in your plans? You figured to cover your bases for the ranch? If grandpa didn't will it to you, then you'd just keep me pussy whipped?"

She reached up and slapped him. The crack reverberated in the air around them. He didn't reach up to touch the area that already started turning bright red with her handprint.

She hadn't a clue what to say to him, so she quickly drew up her defenses, the walls she had built to keep the hurt far away. It was surprisingly easy to gather her sarcasm. She propped her fists on her hips and cocked her head.

"I really hope you enjoyed yourself, because you'll never get this pussy again.” She turned and flounced away, head up and shoulders squared. He called after her, but she ignored him.

She was done.

Heather sat beside her grandfather, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed. She felt ashamed. She hadn't felt that emotion in quite a long while, and it rested uncomfortably on her shoulders. Years ago she had vowed never to be ashamed of anything ever again, and for the most part, she had kept that promise.

But they had lost the stable. Horses almost died. Men could have been hurt. Because of her.

"I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to do it; I'm never touching cigarettes again."

"I can't yell at you for smoking, ‘cause hell, I'd be a hypocrite,” Lincoln Hart said, followed by a fit of coughing.

Heather quickly handed him the glass of water that rested on the nightstand. When Lincoln had drained the glass, she dabbed with a tissue at the water that trickled from the side of his mouth.

When he fell back against his pillows, she could see he was exhausted. His little bit of strength had been zapped. In the time she had been at the ranch, he had shrunk, his body slowly falling into decay. The stench of death overwhelmed the lavender sachets scattered around, a putrid, pungent odor that oozed from Lincoln's skin like cloying perfume. It lodged in the back of Heather's throat, causing her to swallow reflexively. She hoped she didn't gag while sitting next to him.

"I'm sorry,” she said again.

He waved the apology away and closed his eyes.

"Why are you here, Heather?"

"You asked me to come. Don't you remember?” she asked, confused.

"I'm not senile, just dying,” he replied with a huff. “I meant why are you staying? For the money?"

She didn't answer, but she raised her chin a hair.

"Tell me the five things you've learned, Heather Hart, and you'll get your money."

She didn't dispute his words, though she wanted to. She had a feeling he wouldn't believe her anyhow. “I've learned that a lifetime isn't long enough to learn it all. That no matter how long I stay here, I'll always be an outsider. I've learned that I like the warm feeling of the new sun on my face. I've learned that horses aren't so bad, and they don't care a wit what color ribbon is in their hair."

"And?"

She hesitated. She didn't really want to acknowledge the last thing.

"Heather?"

She sighed. “Tristan deserves this ranch. His whole life is here."

He grunted his acknowledgment of her statement.

She stood. “I'm leaving tomorrow."

"You're leaving before I die?"

"I can't watch you die. I can't..."

Her voice faded. She waited awkwardly, watching him, until he closed his eyes and turned his head.

Heather left the bedroom, passing Tristan, who stood outside. They each halted and stared at one another. He smelled of smoke, and the aroma caused her nose to twitch. Neither spoke, but she wanted to feel his arms around her, hugging her and telling her it was okay. That he forgave her.

But he didn't. Instead he walked past her into Lincoln's room and closed the door. It didn't quite click shut, and Heather could hear every word they said. She was helpless to do anything but listen.

"Tristan, I'm going to give you the ranch,” her grandfather said, his voice sounding heavy and tired.

Heather felt tears sliding from her eyes, burning her cheek.

"No, you're not,” Tristan replied.

Heather's heart stuttered.

"All of her life people have abandoned her,” Tristan continued. “Her father, her mother, you. I can't be the next. This ranch is hers, Lincoln."

"She'll sell it!"

"Then that's her prerogative as your heir."

"You love this land, Tristan. Can you say the same about her?"

"It doesn't matter. It's the right thing to do, Lincoln. I'll walk away before you pit us against each other any more. But if she keeps it, I'll guide her. She's a pretty amazing woman under the tough exterior, the dirty mouth, and shock value. You just gotta listen to what she doesn't say, rather than what she does. She's an innocent girl yearning for a place to belong. This is that place, Lincoln. I can see it in her eyes."

Silence descended upon her grandfather's bedroom. Quietly, Heather backed away. She didn't need to hear any more of the conversation. She had a lot to think about, a lot to digest.

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