Sweet Enemy (11 page)

It had your name and the ranch's address on it, remember?"

She nodded, toying with the sheet. "I was…thinking about the
cruise, when the car…"

"You might have told me where you were going," he remarked.

She flushed, turning her eyes away.

He drew a harsh breath. "On second thought," he said gruffly,
"why the hell should you? God knows I didn't give you any reason to
think I'd give a damn, did I, Maggie?"

She still couldn't answer him, the memories coming back
full force now, hurting, hurting…!

"Don't," he said gently. "Maggie, don't look back. It's going to
take every ounce of strength you've got to get back on your feet.
Don't waste it on me."

She breathed unsteadily. "You're right about that," she murmured
tightly. "It would be a waste."

"I'm glad you agree," he replied, with-out a trace of emotion in his deep, slow voice.

She studied her pale hands. "Why did you come?"

"Because Emma and Janna wouldn't rest until I did," he growled.
"Why else?"

"Well, I'll live," she said bitterly. "And I'll walk. And I
don't need any help from you, so why don't you go home?"

"Not without you."

She gaped at him, but there was no hint of expression on his
dark face.

"The minute I leave," he mused, "you'd be up to your ears in
self-pity."

"I wouldn't either!"

He reached out and caught her cold, nervous fingers in
his. "I'll let you go the day you can walk away from me under your
own power," he said. "That ought to give you some incentive,
hellcat."

Hellcat. She remembered, without wanting to, the last time
he'd called her that, pinning her down, holding her, hurting
her, his hard mouth creating sensations that washed over her like
fire.

"You're blushing, Maggie," he teased gently.

She jerked her hand away and her eyes with it. "I can go
home…to the apartment," she faltered.

"Not on your life, honey," he said, and she recognized the
willful, stubborn note in his voice. "Not if I have to tie you.
Janna's home on vacation for the next three weeks, and I'll be
damned if I'll leave you in an apartment alone and
helpless."

"I'm not helpless!"

"No?" he taunted, his eyes sliding down her body.

She hit the covers with an impotent little fist. "I hate
you!"

"As long as you're not indifferent," he chuckled. "Hatred can be
exciting, little girl." Her narrow, flashing pale eyes burned into his. "Just you wait until I get back on my feet!"

He only smiled, leaning back in the chair, the tautness, the age
draining out of him with the action. "I'll try, baby."

Something in the way he said it made her blush.

Time passed quickly after that. The pain lingered on for a few
days, especially when they cut down on the painkillers, but Clint
was always there, daring her to whimper about it. They gave her
over to the physical therapists, and he was there too, watching,
waiting, taunting. She worked twice as hard, focusing her weak
muscles to do what she wanted them to, using the violent emotion
she felt like a whip. She'd walk again. She would, if for no other
reason than to prove to that jade-eyed devil she could!

Finally the day came when she was released from the
hospital, when medical science had done all it could. She gazed
over the back of the cab seat toward the fading skyline of Miami as they reached the airport. And she'd
never even gotten to see the cruise ship.

The flight home seemed to take no time at all. Clint relaxed as
he flew the small single-engine plane, his eyes intent on the
controls and landmarks of small towns and parks and farms and
forests and herds of cattle as they flew above the misty
landscape.

She glanced at Clint. Did he really want her to hate him, she
wondered, or had he only said it to irritate her? She
remembered her own forwardness in her teens, when she'd put
him on a pedestal and done everything but worship him. That must
have been unbearable for a man like Clint, being followed around
like a pet dog, as he'd put it before she left the ranch.

Her eyes went back to the window, glancing out at the wispy
clouds. If only she could live down that idiotic behavior, if only
she could wipe the slate clean between them and start over
and be…friends.

The word almost choked her, but she realized belatedly
that it was the only thing possible now. All the bridges were
burned behind them. She'd done that all by herself.

Anyway, she thought with a chill, Lida would be back at the
ranch waiting for him this time. She'd only seen the woman once,
but that had been more than enough. It was going to make living at
the ranch unbearable. It was why she'd fought so hard to go back to
the apartment. But Clint, as usual, was going to have his way in
spite of all her efforts to thwart him. Just like old times.

She stared down at her useless legs in the slacks she'd worn
from Columbus on the bus. It seemed so long ago that Clint had
swung her up behind him on the stallion.

It was the shock, the doctors had told her, that caused this
temporary paralysis- the shock to her body, to her system, to her
mind, and a good deal of bruising as well. At least she had the feeling back in them. But walking was
going to be another matter altogether, and she shuddered
mentally at what lay ahead. It was going to take a kind of
determination she wasn't sure she possessed to make those muscles
move again. What if she didn't have it? What if the doctors were
wrong, and her spine had been damaged? What if…

"We're home!" Clint said above the engine noise, and nosed the
small plane down toward the landing strip.

Janna met them with tears in her eyes, leaping from the big town
car just as the propeller stopped spinning.

"Oh, Maggie, I'm so glad to see you," she wept, hugging her
friend as though she'd come back from the dead instead of
Miami.

Maggie forced herself to laugh as she patted Janna's shoulder.
"I'm all right. I'm going to be fine. Ask Clint if you don't
believe me. He insists!" she mumbled, glaring at him over Janna's
shoulder.

He only grinned. "Move over, Janna, and let me get this load of
potatoes in the car."

"I'm not a load of potatoes," Maggie protested as he slid his
arms under and around her and carried her like a feather to the
front seat of the car.

"You do have eyes," Janna remarked, tongue-in-cheek, as she
opened the car door for Clint.

"And you do look fried," Clint seconded as he put her down
gently on the seat. "Careful, Maggie, you'll singe
yourself."

"You devil," she grumbled at him.

His eyes dropped deliberately to the soft curve of her mouth.
"Daring me, honey?" he asked in a low voice as Janna went around
the front of the car to get in.

"No!" she whispered back.

He smiled and closed the door. He went around the car, too, and
opened the door on Janna. "Out," he said.

"But I can drive…!" she protested.

"Not my car, not with me in it. Out."

She gave a disgusted sigh and slid over next to Maggie. "I hate
brothers," she muttered.

"That isn't what you always used to tell me," Maggie
observed.

"Oh, do shut up," the younger girl moaned.

By night, Maggie was comfortably installed in the same
guest bedroom she'd left, propped up with pillows, surrounded by
books and magazines, pumped full of soup and sandwiches and hot
coffee.

"But, Emma," she'd protested, "you'll spoil me."

"I'm just glad you're still around to be spoiled," came the
reply as the housekeeper went out the door.

Janna sat down in the chair by the bed, laughing. "You might as
well give up. You know that, don't you?"

Maggie smiled in surrender. "I ought to, I guess. Janna…"

"What?"

She looked down at her hands. "Is Lida here yet?"

Janna gaped at her. "What did you say?"

"Well…Clint said that Lida was coming back."

"The fool!" Janna got up and went to the window. A hard, angry
sigh passed her lips. "He'll never learn, never! Why does he want
her back here now, of all times? And when did he tell you she was
coming?"

"Why…the Monday after I left here," she said.

"Well, she didn't show up. Thank God," Janna added angrily.
"Hasn't he learned yet? My gosh, she went off and married that rich
old man…is she leaving him already?"

"That's what Clint said."

"He'd be better off alone for the rest of his life. Oh, Maggie,
why are men so stupid?" she moaned.

Maggie had to smile at the sincerity in her friend's soft voice.
"I guess God made them that way so they'd be vulnerable to women."

"The only women my brother's vulnerable to are glorified
streetwalkers," Janna grumbled. She eyed the oval face on the
pillow with the cloudy tangle of wavy hair framing it. "Why hasn't
he ever noticed you?"

Maggie reached for her coffee to try and keep Janna from seeing
the color that surged in her cheeks. "I'm like his kid
sister, you know that," she hedged.

"Well, it isn't due to a lack of effort on my part," Janna
admitted. She sighed. "Well, can I get you anything?"

Maggie shook her head. "I'm spoiled enough, thanks. Don't let me
keep you up.

It's late."

Janna leaned down to hug her. "I'm so glad you're all right."

"So am I. I'm just sorry I missed the cruise. I would have
enjoyed it so much…even if only because Duke wanted me to."

Janna smiled. "I liked that big man, too. Goodnight, my
friend."

"Goodnight."

The door closed behind Janna, and the room seemed to shrink. She
picked up a magazine and began to read, but the words blurred. With
the silence and solitude, her mind began to work, weighing
possibilities, worrying about her legs…

"So much for leaving you on your own," Clint said from the
doorway, his eyes narrow as they studied her frowning face.
"Wallowing again?"

She made a face at him. "I'm just reading this stupid
magazine, is that all right?"

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the
door, just watching her. "Were you reading? Or were you
worrying?"

She sighed. "Both."

He moved forward, taking the magazine away. "Lie down," he said,
jerking a pil-low from behind her head so that she could lie flat.

"You awful bully…!" she fussed.

"That and more. Here." He pulled up the covers and tucked them
in around her chin. "Now go to sleep and stop torturing yourself.
All you have to remember is that you're going to walk again."

Her eyes, wide and a little frightened, looked up into his. "I
will, won't I, Clint?" she asked softly, letting the barriers
down just long enough to seek reassurance.

"Yes," he said quietly, and with certainty.

She relaxed against the pillows. "Is…is Lida coming soon?"
she murmured, avoiding his eyes.

"Lida?"

"Yes. You know, you said…"

"God, I forgot," he said heavily. "She called just after I left for Miami and gave

Emma some spiel about changing her mind and going to Majorca instead. It didn't even register at the time Emma told me." His jade eyes
glared down at her. "You've given me a hell of a bad time,
Irish."

"Sorry," she said softly.

"Show me," he murmured deeply, bending to her mouth.

She stared at him, shaken, not knowing how to take this gentle
assault, not knowing if she dared to take him seriously.

His long finger traced the soft tremulous curve of her mouth.
"You don't trust me, do you?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. Without words, her eyes showed the hurt, the
memory of why she'd left here.

He tilted her face just a little and his mouth brushed against
hers softly, slowly, in a kiss so tender, so exquisitely caring
that it brought tears misting into her eyes.

He drew back and searched her face with darkening, intense eyes.
"I've got a hard head," he murmured absently, "and sometimes it
takes a hell of a knock to get through to me. But I learn fast, little girl, and I don't make
the same mistakes twice."

She lowered her eyes as the words got through to her. He meant
that he wasn't playing any more, that he wasn't going to encourage
her to lose her head. It should have made her happy. Instead, there
was a king-sized lump in her throat.

"I'm…I'm so tired, Clint," she murmured.

"No doubt." He smoothed her hair with a gentle hand. "I'm safe,
Maggie. I'm not going for your throat any more. We'll keep things
at a friendly level from now on. Is that what you want?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed, and didn't look up in time to see the
tiny flinch of his eyelids.

"Sleep well," he said in a strange tone, and tugging playfully
at a strand of her hair, he turned and left her there.

She snuggled down into the pillows. At least, she thought
miserably, they'd be friends for once in their lives. Maybe that would ease the hurt
a little. And maybe all wolves would suddenly become vegetari-ans.

"Is
that the best you can do, Irish?" Clint taunted as
she pulled herself along the parallel bars in the makeshift
gym he'd had equipped for her.

She glared at him, painstakingly dragging her weak legs
along behind her as she let her arms take her weight. "You try it!"
she panted. "Do you think you could do any better?"

"Sure," he chuckled.

She stopped to catch her breath. "You," she told him, "are a
slave driver."

"I'll have you back on your feet in two more weeks," he said
smugly. "If," he added darkly, "you stop cheating. Use your legs,
Maggie, not your arms. Stand up, dammit!"

Her lower lip trembled. Tears formed in her eyes. "Don't you
think I'm trying to?" she cried.

He came forward, lifting her up in his arms like a tearful
child. He carried her to an armchair by the window and sank down in
it, holding her on his lap until the cloudburst was past. He
passed a handkerchief into her hand and sat back, watching her mop
and sniff away the evidence.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"You're human," he told her. "So am I, although I don't think
you like to believe it. I don't want to browbeat you, but you'll
never get on your feet again unless you try to walk. Dragging won't
cut it, baby."

She thumped her small fist against his broad chest under the
deep gray shirt. "I'm trying!"

"Try harder."

She glared at him with all the pent-up rage she felt. "I'd like
to hit you!" she said hotly.

His eyes narrowed. "All that sweet, wild emotion," he whispered,
"and no way to let it out, is that it? Let me help you…"

He caught her face in both hands and brought it up to his mouth,
kissing her suddenly, violently, with a force that made her
clutch at his shoulders to steady herself. She felt the wildness in
her own blood reaching out to him, burning him back, in a release
that was better than tears. With a hard moan, her arms went around
his neck, her mouth opened hungrily under his, and she gave him
back the kiss with every bit of strength in her body and all the
longing she had felt for him since her teens. Suddenly he drew
away, his eyes burn-ing, his breath jerking as he managed to catch it. "My God," he
breathed unsteadily, and his hands bit into her upper arms
like steel clasps. "What are you trying to do to me?"

Dazed, vaguely embarrassed at her passionate response, she
dragged her eyes down to the hard pulse at his brown throat.
"You…started it," she accused shakily.

"It's all I can do to keep from finishing it, you little fool,"
he said deeply. He stood up abruptly, met her eyes as he placed her
hands on the bars, probing them in a silence that simmered between
them.

"The sooner I get you out of here, the better," he said in a
goaded tone. "Now, stand up, dammit!"

Whipped by the anger in his voice, the admission that he wanted
to be rid of her, she forced her body to go erect, forced the
screaming muscles in her legs to move.

"I'm going to walk if it kills me," she told him.

"Don't tell me," he replied. "Show me."

"Stand back and watch, then." And she moved her legs, for the
first time.

From that first step, it was on to a second, a third, and
finally as many as it took to go the length of the parallel bars.
It was the greatest feeling of accomplishment Maggie had ever
known, and better than any medicine. She could walk again. She
could walk alone. She could walk away from Clint for good.

Not that it seemed to bother Clint. Once he had her moving
alone, he seemed to vanish, leaving her with Emma and Janna for
moral support while he went about his business. He kept his
distance except at meals, and then he made sure the
conversation was kept on general topics. To Maggie he
was courteous and polite, nothing more. It was worse than the old
days, when he fought with her. It hurt.

Janna was sitting with her one night, when Clint passed by the
open door with little more than a glance and a nod. Maggie muttered
something under her breath and Janna got up and closed the
door.

She turned, eyeing Maggie curiously. "Do you hate him so much?"
she asked gently.

Maggie pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I'm
indifferent," she lied. "Numb, I guess. I don't think there's
enough emotion left in me for hate."

"Serves him right, I guess." The smaller girl sighed. "All the
hearts he's broken over the years, it was poetic
justice."

Maggie's heart jumped and ran away, but the excitement never
touched her composed expression. "What do you mean?"

"If you'd seen his face when he got that call about the accident
you were in, you wouldn't have to ask." Janna sighed as she sank
back down in the chair by Maggie's bed. "He went whiter than
any sheet. I've never seen anything upset Clint like that, not in
all my life. He went straight to the airstrip without even packing. And when he got to Miami, he
never left you except to sleep, and not for long at that." Janna
studied her fingernails. "The doctors told him you weren't
going to make it, that you weren't trying to live. He wouldn't
accept that. He sat and held your hand and talked to you…I stayed
for two days, then he made me come home when he saw you were going
to be all right." She smiled. "He said somebody had to run the
ranch while he was gone."

Maggie stared at her for a long time before she spoke. "I
don't remember anything…" She sighed. "Oh, Janna, I'm so
sorry I worried everyone. It was such a stupid…"

"It could have happened to any of us. All I wanted to do was
make you understand that Clint cares."

Maggie smiled wistfully. "It's guilt, Janna, not caring," she
corrected gently. "He…he said some very cruel things to me the
night before I left the ranch for

Miami. I don't think either one of us will ever forget. God help
me," she said, her eyes closing on the memories, "I don't think I
can forget or forgive him, ever, for what he did to me that
night."

There was such a deathly silence in the room that Maggie quickly
opened her eyes-and found Clint standing just inside the door, his
face frozen, his gaze dark and quiet and faintly violent. That he'd
heard those words was evident.

"I wanted to remind you that Jones is bringing that bull
tomorrow morning," Clint told Janna, without bothering to spare
Maggie another glance. "I've got a meeting in Atlanta, so I won't
be back until late. Have the boys put him in that new pen and
get the vet out here."

"I will," Janna said uncomfortably. "Are you going in the
morning?"

He nodded. "Goodnight."

He was gone, and Janna met Maggie's wounded eyes in the silence
that followed.

"Maggie, what happened?" she asked gently.

But Maggie shook her head with a tearful smile. It didn't
bear telling. Not to anyone.

It was late, and the house was long asleep, but Maggie couldn't
even close her eyes. With a quiet sigh, she finally gave up and got
out of bed, painstakingly pulling on her long jade green robe
and making her way into the dark hall and down the stairs.

Her legs were still sluggish, but by taking her time, she
made it to the kitchen without stumbling. A cup of hot chocolate,
she thought, just might put her to sleep. Failing that, she was
ready to try a sledgehammer.

While the milk was heating, she got down a heavy mug and filled
it sparingly with a tablespoon of sugar and one of cocoa. And
all the while, she hated her own tongue for the words Clint had
heard. Af-ter everything he'd done for her, and she had to throw it out
like that, and he had to hear it. Her eyes closed on the pain. And
she hadn't really meant it at all.

She poured the hot milk into the mug on top of the sugar and
cocoa. The sudden opening of the door startled her so that she
almost dropped the pot. She whirled to find Clint standing just
inside the doorway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked
quietly. His dark hair was rumpled, his shirt half undone, his dark
face heavily lined as if he'd tried to sleep and couldn't.

"I…just wanted to have a cup of hot chocolate," she murmured,
as she placed the pot in the sink and ran water in it.

"Who told you to get out of bed and start climbing up and down
stairs in the dark?" he persisted.

She flashed a glance at him. "The President, both houses
of Congress and my senator," she said with a hint of her old
spirit.

"You left out your representative," he mused, and for just an
instant a smile touched his hard mouth. "You ought to be in bed,
honey."

Amazing what the soft endearment could do to her nerves, she
thought, sitting quickly down at the table in front of her hot
chocolate before her legs gave way. "I'll go back up in just a
minute."

"Stubborn little mule," he accused. "All right, I'll have a
glass of tea and wait for you. How about some cheese and
bread?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Hoop cheese?" she asked hopefully.

"If I can find where Emma hides it. Aha!" He pulled it out of
the refrigerator, sliced some of it, and put it on a saucer. "Would
you rather have crackers or bread?"

"Crackers!"

He laughed softly as he poured himself a glass of tea and
plopped ice cubes into it. "Same here."

Seconds later, he put the cheese and crackers on the table
between them and relaxed in the chair next to hers, drinking
his tea thirstily.

"Couldn't you sleep?" she asked, suddenly shy of him.

"No," he replied quietly.

She shrugged. "Neither could I." She munched on a piece of
cheese.

He finished off his part of the cheese and crackers and leaned
back in his chair to study her. "Look at me," he said
suddenly.

She met his level gaze, startled, and as quickly looked away
from it.

"The robe matches your eyes," he remarked.

She smiled. "That's why Janna gave it to me, or so she
said."

"Legs hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I took my time coming down the steps. After
all," she reminded him, "you were the one who said I needed
more exercise."

He drained his glass. "I said too damned much," he replied.
"
Hurry up, honey, I'm not leaving you down here alone."

She finished her hot chocolate and got up to put the cup in the
sink. As she turned away from the sink, she found herself
being lifted into a pair of steely, warm arms and carried out
of the kitchen.

"Oh, don't," she protested gently, pushing at his shoulder.
"Clint, I'm too heavy…!"

He flicked off the light switch in the kitchen as he carried her
out into the hall and up the staircase. His eyes, dark and strange,
looked deep into hers. "You don't weigh anything, little girl. It's
like carrying an armload of soft, warm velvet."

"If you're going to make fun of me, just put me down
and I'll walk!" she said defensively, stirred by the
sensations being this close to him was causing.

"Oh, hell no, you won't," he replied imperturbably, and tightened his hold on her.

"You awful bully!"

"You little shrew."

She drew a deep, hard breath and glared up at him with her green
eyes blazing. "It's like arguing with a stone wall!" she
growled.

He chuckled softly. "See how simple life is when you stop
struggling, Irish?"

Her lips pursed in a sulking pout. "I won't even dignify that
remark with an answer."

"You'd hate it if you could fight me and win, Irish," he said
gently.

She lowered her eyes to his open collar, where the bronzed flesh
with its covering of dark hair was tantalizingly visible. She could
feel the hardness of that broad chest where she was pressed against
it, and she wanted suddenly to reach out and touch that warm rough
skin. A tremor went lightly through her body.

He looked down when he felt it and caught her eyes, held them, and searched them with an intensity
that made her heart race.

He drew a deep, harsh breath and kept walking. He carried her
into her room and laid her on the bed as quickly as if she'd been
an armload of burning straw.

"This time, stay put," he growled, and his eyes were blazing as
they looked down into hers.

She glared up at him. Her breath came in irregular gasps, from
the proximity she'd endured, from the hunger of loving him. "Must
you always growl at me?" she whispered.

"Do you have to be told what I'd rather do?'' he asked flatly,
and his eyes slid over her like a warm caress, from her lovely
flushed face in its wild tangle of dark, wavy long hair down to her
slender body. "I want you to the point where it's like having an
arm cut off, does that make you feel better, hellcat?" he asked
harshly.

The admission stunned her. He'd said something like that before, but she always thought it was part
of the humiliation he'd thrown at her. She lay there quietly,
staring up at him like a curious young cat, her eyes asking
questions as they met his.

"That's all you know anything about- wanting," she said quietly,
her eyes accusing.

"What should I believe in?" he asked. "Love? It's a myth, little
girl. An illusion that doesn't last past the marriage vows."

"How do you know?"

He studied her mouth with a mocking smile. "How do you?" He bent
forward, leaning on the arms that pinioned her on either side.
"I've always been able to read you like a book," he murmured,
holding her eyes. "No, I'm not guilt-ridden, and don't you believe
that I am. There are a thousand reasons why I came to Miami
after you, but guilt wasn't one of them."

She stared up at him, curious but afraid to voice the
question.

"You know one of them," he whis-pered deeply, studying her mouth. "But I'm not going to offer
you marriage, Maggie. Not now, not ever."

She swallowed nervously. "I won't be your mistress," she said
unsteadily. "I won't, Clint."