Diamond Spur (29 page)

The whole family was at breakfast the next morning. Kate smiled vaguely at everyone as she sat down, trying to put the night before behind her. "You won't be on the road anytime soon, I gather, and not working impossible hours until you start on your new designs," Jason said unexpectedly.

"Not right away, certainly," she said quietly.

"Then you'll have time to do some things for me," he said, leaning back arrogantly in his chair. "I want you to organize a few dinner parties for me. I'm trying to drum up some support for a feedlot operation I have in mind. I'll give you the names of the men I want to invite, and you can get them here in different parties, so that we have a full table. Sheila can help you."

Kate shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "I don't know anything about dinner parties," she said shortly. "Or don't you remember my first one?" He only lifted an eyebrow as he sipped black coffee. "It's time you learned. If you're going to live here, you can't walk around in rags and bare feet forever."

Kate glared at him, oblivious to the shocked faces around her. "I'll dress as I please in my own home, as long as it is my own home," she informed him. "I'm not high society, as you once told me." She poured herself a cup of coffee and buttered a slice of toast to go with her eggs,

glaring at him. "As for organizing dinners, if Sheila will help me, I'll try. But don't expect miracles. As you once said, I'm just a poor little country girl." He actually grinned, a painful reminder of the old ca
maraderie they'd once shared. "Don't wear black sequins, will you?" he murmured. She lifted her coffee cup and came within a hair of throwing it across the table at him. "Damn you!" she breathed.

Jason lifted his chin, delighted at her show of fury. It meant there was still some feeling in her. Even subdued fury was better than her constant coldness. "Damn me, by all means, but buy a new dress."

"I'll be delighted to buy an original at Neiman-Marcus," she promised with icy sweetness, "and give you the bill. If you want rich, you can have rich, but you'll pay for it."

Gene chuckled. "She's got a point," he began.

Jason glared at him. "You can shut up," he said flatly. "I've had more than enough advice from you. I'm carrying the load for both of us while you strut around pretending to be the next Renoir."

"Renoir was an impressionist," Gene replied imperturbably as he buttered a biscuit. "I'm going to specialize in portraits. Right now, I'm working on one of Kate, from a sketch I did when she didn't know."

Kate was flattered and surprised. "Are you, really?" she asked.

"He really is." Cherry grinned. "And it's beautiful. He's putting you in a green satin gown...."

"Don't tell her yet!" Gene burst out. "It's a surprise."

"If you want to paint Kate, put her in blue jeans in a patch of sunflowers," Jason said lazily, studying her with eyes that were dark and quiet and oddly attentive. "Not in an evening gown."

It was the first thing he'd said to her since she'd lost the baby that didn't have an edge to it. Her green eyes searched his dark ones in a long, tense silence. He didn't look away, and the tension burst into sparks as it lengthened and pulsed with excitement.

"By all means," she said, tearing her eyes away. "Show the world what a country hick looks like." She put down her napkin and stood up. "I'm late."

Jason hadn't meant it that way, and he almost said so. But she was gone, and Gene and Cherry just sat staring daggers at him. He finished his coffee and got up leisurely, his mind on that helpless softness in Kate's eyes. It seemed like a long time since he'd made love to her. He thought about it a lot these days. Altogether too much, when he should be thinking of ways to keep from losing the Spur. None of them, not even Gene, knew how critical his situation was getting. He'd bought additional land when interest rates were sky high. It had seemed a good idea at the time because a recreational facility had been planned for that land, and Jason was worried about having four-wheel drive vehicles worrying his cattle, or drunken party-goers shooting them for sport. Now, when he was struggling just to pay the interest on the loan he'd taken out to pay for the land, it didn't seem overly wise. But spilled milk was spilled milk. He'd just have to do the best he could.

"Why is he so cruel to her?" Cherry asked when Jason was out the front door.

Gene shook his head. "I don't know. It isn't like him to hurt Kate. But they've had an odd relationship. Our father had warped ideas about sex and women. I think Jay's having a hard time reconciling what he's been taught with what he feels for Kate." He sighed and touched Cherry's hand gently. "I hope he can work it out. Losing the baby has done something terrible to both of them."

"Yes, I know," Cherry replied. She linked her fingers into his. "That's why I haven't said anything about our baby." She searched Gene's eyes and smiled softly. "But we'll have to tell them someday. I'll start showing before much longer."

"And I have to start showing a profit," he mused, lifting

her fingers to his mouth. "Now that I'll have three mouths to feed instead of two. Jason's never

taken my art seriously, but when he sees what I can do with this portrait of Kate, he'll be

convinced. I'm certain of that, Cherry."

"So am I," she said firmly. "And if we have to starve in a garret and beg milk for the baby,

I'm with you all the way. Every step."

He took a slow, proud breath. "I love you," he whispered.

She leaned toward him, smiling as she touched her lips to his. "I love you, too."

The weather was slowly getting cooler as October turned to November, and Thanksgiving came into sight. Kate, well into organizing the first of three of Jason's dinner parties, was very nervous. She wasn't sure about the guest list, and Jason had been vague. He usually was, expecting people to read his mind if they wanted answers he was too impatient to give.

She did the best she could, worrying over the caterer and the seating arrangements, whether or not she'd chosen the right kind of wine to serve with the poultry dish and the sweet. She didn't know beans about wine. She didn't know beans about place settings, either, not formal ones. Sheila had to teach her. If designing was hard, creating a formal table wasn't much easier. She'd never known how many utensils it took just for one big meal. A knife, fork, and spoon had been adequate when she was growing up.

The past two social events she'd gone to had led to disaster because of the way she'd been dressed. But this time, Jason's mocking attitude had sent her to a boutique, where she found a sedate gray crepe dress with a high neckline and bishop sleeves that suited Kate very well. She had her hair trimmed and a body wave put in it, so that it curled softly around her oval face. She wore a minimum of makeup and very sophisticated perfume, and not too much of that, either. From her dark hair to her sedate gray kid high heels, she looked perfect as a young society wife. And she was certain that even Jason couldn't find fault with the way she looked this time.

She'd done some reading in her spare time—best-sellers, and some historical novels. She'd boned up on elegant cuisine and art. She knew a lot about costume already, from her design training. Kate wasn't polished, but she felt she could hold her own. Hopefully.

She went downstairs just before the first guests arrived. Jason was in a neat gray vested suit, holding a glass of whiskey. That alone was odd, because he never drank. The last time had been when Kate lost the baby, and she scowled a little as she went into the living room.

"I'm not going to stagger, don't look so worried," he taunted.

"You never stagger," she replied quietly. "But it's odd to see you drinking."

Yes, he thought bitterly, but she couldn't see inside him, to the dark places filled with guilt and frustrated desire. His dark eyes ran down her slender body. Still too thin, he thought bitterly. Too thin, too distant. He tried occasionally to approach her, but more often than not his pride held him back at the last minute. And as for Kate, she never came near him voluntarily anymore. She never touched him. She was a stranger who lived in his house and avoided him most of the time.

"You look very elegant, Mrs. Donavan," he said, and without his usual sarcasm.

"I found it at a boutique," she replied. "Even though I design clothes, they're all casual things. I never knew much about evening gowns and such." She lowered her eyes to his chest. "It was Cherry who told me about the boutique.

She does know style, probably because she and Gene hang around with an artistic crowd."

He watched the way her hands folded and unfolded, as if just being around him made her

nerves stand on end. "They want to move out."

She stared at him. "Do they? Cherry didn't mention anything...."

"Oh, she wouldn't," he said with a cold, bitter laugh. "She's trying to protect you."

Kate frowned. "I don't understand."

He smiled mockingly and lifted his glass to his lips. "She's pregnant."

It shouldn't have hit her that way. It was only a statement, after all. Just that. But the way he said it, the bitterness in his deep voice, the faint accusation in his eyes brought back the agony of her own loss. Kate felt the floor go out from under her. Her blood beat in her head as great waves of shock hit her from all sides. She just stood and stared at Jason, like a calf waiting for the bullet....

He caught her as she swayed, spilling whiskey as he dropped the glass and swung her up in his hard arms with a muffled curse. He laid her down on the long couch, noticing how frail her body was and her face, pinched and white. Memories flooded him of Kate running to him across a meadow, laughing, her green eyes sparkling. That child no longer lived in this old, tired woman

who lay so still on his living room sofa.

He fumbled with the brandy bottle just as Gene came in and suddenly stopped at the sight in front of him. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Get Sheila," Jason said shortly. "Tell her to bring a cold wet cloth." "What happened?" Gene persisted. "I told her about Cherry," Jason muttered. "Will you get out of here?" Gene went, hastened on his way by those cold black unblinking eyes. Jason looked and felt dangerous. He knelt beside Kate, furious that his hand was unsteady as

he lifted her head and put the brandy snifter against her lips. She made a face and groaned, but he held her until some of the brandy got past her tight lips.

"Don't," she moaned, pushing at it.

He set the glass aside and held her shoulders down when she tried to sit up. "Are you all right?" he asked tersely. "No thanks to you," she whispered shakily, her eyes accusing. "Was it necessary to fling it at me like that?" He got slowly to his feet. "You had to know eventually," he returned, standing over her with a face like stone. "Why hide it?" "Why, indeed?" She did sit up then, fighting the urge to burst into tears. "If Cherry had told me, at least she would have led up to it first. She wouldn't have tried to hurt me with it"

He glared at her. "Why should hearing about another woman's pregnancy hurt you?" he asked coldly. "You told me in the beginning that you didn't even want my child! Your career came first, you said!"

She didn't think she could breathe again. The ice had finally cracked. His remoteness had caught fire, and for the first time, he was letting out his feelings, without making her have to guess at them.

Now if she could only draw him out, keep him going. Kate got to her feet slowly. "Is that what you think, Jason?" she asked, fighting for composure. "That I never wanted the baby, that I deliberately put his life in jeopardy because of my work?"

He straightened, staring at her. She was oddly still, as if she were waiting for something. And it was such a relief, suddenly, to have it out in the open. "You told me that no man would ever matter more than your damned job, didn't you?" he asked with a cool smile, the alcohol mercifully numbing his own guilt about Jamaica. "And that you didn't want a string of preschoolers hanging on your legs."

"I lied." she said.

He turned abruptly. "You what?"

"I lied, Jason." She took a slow breath, her pale green eyes holding his. "I knew you didn't want to marry me. You felt guilt that you'd seduced me and got me pregnant, but I was never sophisticated enough or cultured enough to suit a man like you and I knew it. So I lied and told you that I didn't want you or a child because I thought it would make you go away." She smiled bitterly. "And it did. Except that you found out the truth and forced me to marry you anyway."

She turned away, missing the rigid shock on his dark face. "As for having problems, I had them from the beginning. I refused to have the tests they wanted because I was afraid they'd find something and ask me to have a therapeutic abortion." She sighed wearily. "I couldn't have let them. So I hid my head in the sand and pretended that everything was all right. But it wasn't. Everything went wrong, and maybe it was because of the way it happened." She toyed with a fold of her dress, fighting tears as she remembered it all. "Babies should be made by people who love each other, Jason, not because of...of an uncontrollable desire. And love on one side isn't enough. Even when it's as strong as mine was for you."

Jason didn't move. It all came rushing on him like a tidal wave. Why in God's name hadn't she told him that long ago? Or at least, when he'd gone to Atlanta to get her? And then he realized how little chance he'd given her to tell him anything. He'd been unreachable. Then, and since.

She'd lied to save him from a marriage she didn't think he wanted. She'd wanted his baby. That had to mean that she'd wanted him. But he'd been so cold to her that she couldn't have any feeling left for him now. He'd shifted his own guilt about the baby on to her thin shoulders, and now his own inability to accept blame had cost him the woman he wanted most in the world, and his child.

"I wish you'd trusted me, just a little," she whispered, turning to take a tissue from the ceramic decorator box on the cream-colored end table. The room was done in chocolate and cream, with modern furniture and innovative designs in the carpet and drapes. Kate had always loved it, but right now she could have dropped a match in the middle of it. She sat up, dabbing at her eyes.

"I've never learned to trust, Kate," he began quietly. She got up. "I know that," she agreed, averting her gaze. "I even know why. But I'd never have hurt you deliberately." She smiled wistfully. "I loved you, Jason. Didn't you know?" He felt sick to the soles of his boots. "No," he said tautly. "I swear to God, I didn't even suspect it. Not even when you gave in to me..." "You needn't worry," she said quickly, shooting a wary glance in his direction. "I'm over it, now. I won't fall at your feet or anything. I'm cured." She stared at the tissue in her cold hands. "I'm really cured. You've made it very clear that you don't want anyone to love you. You look on love as a weakness, Jason. I can't blame you, you've never had much experience of it. But I feel sorry for you. Even when it hurts, it's better than being dead inside." His dark eyes flashed wildly over Kate's wan little face, and he had the sensation of tearing the wings from a butterfly. She looked almost damaged, and he wanted to tell her the truth. That he did know how to love, that he wasn't dead inside. That he wanted her love, needed it, hungered for it. If only he could make her understand the darkness inside him, the fear that drove him sometimes to strike out, the fear of ending up like his father....

He moved toward her, his hard face oddly still. "Kate," he began softly.

But before he could speak, Gene and Sheila were back, and Cherry was with them. They'd ganged up in the kitchen, to protect little Kate from that cold man who seemed bound and determined to drag the heart right out of her. He glanced toward the door and the impulsive words died inside him. He laughed ironically. "Don't worry, Kate, here comes the cavalry. They'll save you from me." "I don't need saving," she returned quietly, her hands folded at her waist. "I'm not afraid of you, Jason. I never have been."

"Are you all right?" Sheila demanded, dressed up for once in a perky mauve dress that almost concealed her abundant weight, her salt-and-pepper hair neatly curled. She glared at Jason. "Done it again, have you? Why don't you go cut up a calf, that ought to improve your disposition!"

He didn't flinch. He went back to the bar and poured himself another whiskey, a larger one, and threw it down.

"Go ahead, get drunk," Sheila persisted. "Be like your daddy...!"

He whirled, his whole expression threatening. "Damn you!" he breathed, almost shuddering with rage.

"Sheila, no!" Kate cried, horrified at what Sheila had said, at what it did to Jason's eyes. She couldn't bear to see him hurt. She got between them, so that she was right in front of the belligerent housekeeper. "We have guests coming. This won't do." She swallowed, sniffling as she tried to compose herself. "Gene, take Cherry out of here, this isn't good for her." She smiled gently at Cherry. "I'm so happy for you, honey."

Cherry ran to her, hugging her warmly. Tears ran from her eyes, spoiling her mascara. "I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't want to upset you." "Babies shouldn't upset people," Kate said with a forced smile. "And it will be wonderful to have one in the family. Go with Gene."

Gene looked worried, but Kate nodded, smiling. They went out and Kate turned back to Jason, who was staring out the window without moving, the whiskey glass clenched in one lean hand. She stopped beside him, searching for the right words. She alone knew how vulnerable he really was. "She didn't mean that," she said softly. "She thought she as protecting me."

He looked out the darkened window blankly. "My father was never a cruel man, except when

he drank. When he drank, he raged. And while he raged, he hit." He looked down at the

whiskey. "I can remember a time or two when I've raised my hand to another man, when I had too

much to drink. But maybe I'll break one day," he said absently, not looking at her. "Maybe I'll

try to find my answers in a bottle, like my father did. Maybe I'll end up just like him..."

"You won't," she said quietly. "Jason, you aren't your father. You're a totally different man.

You aren't cruel."

"That's damned funny, coming from you," he replied shortly, glaring down at her.

She drew in a gentle breath. "You aren't a cruel man," she repeated, searching the dark,

tormented eyes above her. "Oh, Jason, I'm sorry," she whispered achingly. "I'm so sorry, about

our baby...."

She touched his arm, and he flinched. He actually flinched away from her, his entire body going stiff, his face rigid with self-control. No, he thought in anguish. No, she didn't love him anymore. He couldn't let her see how desperate he was for her touch. If he couldn't have her love, he didn't want her pity. But when Kate saw and felt his reaction, she interpreted it a different way. He wasn't going to stop blaming her for the baby's death. She'd failed him, as she'd said., and he didn't want any part of her. Even her touch repulsed him. Blindly, she withdrew her hand, staring at it as if it weren't even part of her body. "Excuse me," she said in a tone that barely carried to his ears. She turned and went quietly from the room in a kind of stunned daze. She didn't know how she kept from screaming. It was the last straw. There had been too much pain already, but this was insupportable.

Jason watched her go, his eyes quietly haunted. He stared at the glass in his hand for a long moment, studying it. Slowly he made himself put it down and leave it. Not me, he thought. No. Not ever again. He turned away and left it sitting there.

He didn't know why he'd poured the first glass, except that the dinner tonight had worried him. He was entertaining potential business partners, and it was a critical time for him. He had some land he wasn't using for any other purpose. If he could involve some potential backers, he might still pull the Spur out before he had to file for bankruptcy. He was living on his nerves already because of the tension between himself and Kate, and now he realized that he'd created it.

Kate thought he was ashamed of her, that she'd let him down. That was almost laughable. She was the only bright spot in his world, and she had a heart so tender that she could even try to comfort a man who'd hurt her. He closed his eyes and his lips compressed as he fought down a wave of remorse that cut off his breath. Softhearted when she'd needed someone, when she'd lost a baby that he realized now she'd wanted desperately, he'd turned his back on her.

He turned, staring blankly at the door. He loved her with a passion so primitive it struck him like lightning, almost bringing him to his knees. He'd have given anything to take back the past few months, to make it all right again. But the road ahead looked dark. He wondered if Kate would ever let herself care about him again.

He reached the doorway as the bell rang, and guests started pouring in. Minutes later, when they were sitting around the table and he got a look at Kate's too-composed features, he knew that it was going to be too late. When she turned and looked into his eyes, he was sure of it. There

was such indifference in them that he knew without a word that she'd given up on him at last.

The dinner party might have been a huge success, if Kate hadn't been so upset. But she was nervous and unsure of herself, and having Jason sit at the head of the table like a man ready to order an execution didn't help. She felt out of place, and she looked it.

One of the society matrons mentioned a book she'd read. It happened to be one of the ones Kate had thumbed through, and she quickly said so and praised the author's talent.

The matron was immediately affronted, because the book had been a satire on the oil business, which her husband made his living from. Then while Kate was trying to talk her way out of that faux pas, another of the wives mentioned the rates her CDs were getting. Kate didn't know what a certificate of deposit was, so she assumed that the woman meant the mileage her car was getting, and Kate began talking about hers.

The woman laughed, thinking Kate had made a funny joke. How cute, she told Kate, to pretend to think that a certificate of deposit was a sports car. But to Kate, it was just one more example of how silly she looked trying to be a society woman. She excused herself from the table without saying where she was going. She went upstairs, changed into her jeans and boots and a pullover sweater, and went out to the barn to see about Kip.

Jason had given her a stall for her quarter horse when she'd married him, and she'd moved the horse over after they returned from Jamaica. Having Kip was comforting. He was someone to talk to, who understood her.

She groomed him, talking to him gently. She began to feel like herself again. One thing she knew. She might design clothes well, but she wasn't cut out to be a hostess. Jason would just have to divorce her and try again. That

would probably suit him, too, since he couldn't stand to let her touch him anymore! She pulled the curry comb harder through Kip's dark mane. "Don't pull it all out," Gabe teased. She smiled out the stall at him. Gabe, at least, liked her the way she was. He was a nice man, even if he did fall in and out of love every second week. "I won't," she assured him. "I'm hiding out. Don't tell anyone where I am." "What's going on?" he asked. "The social set is having dinner with Jason. I've just started a fight between two ladies who have opposing views on the latest bestseller, and still another lady thinks I'm hilarious because I don't understand finance." She sighed. "Oh, Gabe, I'm just hopeless. I'm not cut out to be any
thing but a designer."

"The boss didn't marry you because you were a designer," Gabe mused.

"That's true." She sighed. "God knows why he did marry me," she added under her breath as

she drew the comb along the sleek withers. "What are you hanging around the barn for?"

He shrugged. "I've had a fight with my girl," he confessed. "She thinks I've been two-timing

her with one of her friends."

"Have you?" she murmured, tongue-in-cheek, because

she knew Gabe.

He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Just a couple of dates, that's all. Nothing for

her to go and get upset about."

"You'll never keep a girl with that attitude," she said easily. "No woman likes being two-

timed."

"I know, Kate, but I like girls," he groaned.

"So I've noticed," a cold, unpleasant voice said from behind him.

He turned on his heel and the boss was standing there, looking mad as hell and dangerous to

boot.

"Uh-oh," Gabe said under his breath.

"Better find someplace to go to ground, old son," Jason told him with a smile that was spoiling

for a fight.

"No sooner said than done, boss man," Gabe grinned sheepishly. He nodded to Kate and took

off, while there was still time, with only a twinge of regret for leaving Kate to face Jason.

"What in hell are you doing?" Jason asked Kate. He was in his shirtsleeves, bareheaded, with his black hair faintly disheveled in the stark light from the hanging bulb overhead. His white silk shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his broad, hair-roughened chest and rolled up to his elbows. He looked frankly sexy, if it hadn't been for the set of his head that alerted her to his state of mind.

"I'm grooming Kip," she said pleasantly. "I hope your dinner is going well. I had a terrible
case of polite indigestion, from an overdose of social leprosy."

He actually laughed, his stance less threatening. "Well, it's not fatal."

"Have they gone?" she asked tersely.

"They're still arguing about that damned book. At least, two of them are. The other one is in tears because she suddenly realized that she'd upset you. She honestly thought you were making a joke." "Sorry," she murmured regretfully, and pulled the comb slowly along Kip's flank, watching the way it rippled with pleasure at the touch.

"The men are deliberating about whether to drink all my whiskey or just go home. They don't think they want to invest in a feedlot." He tilted his head back. "If you want to walk out, honey, this is a good time to leave. I may go bust any day."

She stopped the comb altogether. "I didn't marry you for your money."

He sighed heavily. "No, I guess you didn't at that, did you? You married me because you were pregnant with my baby. You told me a few white lies to keep me from sacrificing myself, and I've given you hell ever since." His dark eyes caught her shocked ones. "I know I'm the devil to live with. Well, maybe I didn't want to get married, but I wanted the baby. I had so much riding on that little one, Kate. I went crazy when we lost him. But I never really blamed you, despite what I said."