The Lancaster Men (17 page)

When she applied pressure on the bit to slow the horse down, Rebel responded without any protest. She brought him down to a trot. His flanks heaved beneath her as the gelding blew out a rolling snort. She patted his wet neck, smiling her pleasure for the wild ride. It was a long time since she had felt this free, all her tension stripped away.

Just ahead of them, a hen pheasant took wing, flying out of the hedgerow lining the dirt lane. The gray horse still had enough energy to shy at the sudden movement. Shari kept her seat in the saddle, a breathless laugh slipping from her throat when the moment had passed.

The chestnut horse drew alongside the gray. “I don’t know which of you is crazier,” Whit declared. “You or that horse. It’s going to be a toss-up whether he breaks a leg before you break your neck.”

But he was smiling and that gold sparkle was in his amber eyes. Shari couldn’t have taken him seriously even if the reproval had been meant to be. She was in too glorious a mood to let idle warnings spoil it.

“Part of this still doesn’t seem real,” she admitted on a contented sigh and lifted her gaze to the clear, blue sky overhead. “I almost think I’m dreaming it. But if it’s a dream, I don’t care.”

“It isn’t a dream,” Whit assured her. “Rebel is yours again.”

She believed him because she had never dreamed in sight, sound and sensation before. Creaking saddle leather, jangling metal bits and the clip-clopping of hooves confirmed the sound part of it. Shari could
feel the movement of the horse between her legs and her eyes recognized the gray gelding that had taken her on so many wild rides before.

“Thank you.” It seemed an inadequate response, but she wasn’t able to express how deeply she was moved by the gift.

Both horses settled into a walk. “I had the devil’s own time finding him,” Whit said. “He’s had two more owners since you sold him. You seem to be the only one who appreciates his lawless ways.”

“Not lawless,” Shari corrected. “Rebel is just independent.”

“Okay, independent,” he accepted her adjective with a certain dryness. “Now you understand why I told your mother you probably wouldn’t be back for a while. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist riding him.”

“You were absolutely right,” she agreed. Laughter came so easily to her, rolling from her throat without needing much of a reason. “Did you tell anyone what you were doing? Have they been keeping it a secret from me?”

“Only Granddad, since he took some of the telephone messages for me,” Whit explained. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You succeeded.” It was an understatement. Shari leaned forward in the saddle to stroke the gray’s neck, almost needing the reassurance of touching the animal.

A pickup truck was parked at a field gate just ahead of them. When they reached it, Whit reined his chestnut aside to talk to the man out checking the
field’s crop. Shari halted her horse as well, but didn’t join the two men.

Her gaze swept the rows of tobacco plants beyond the fence. It was nearly head-high. By late August, it would grow that tall. From her early years of being raised on the tobacco farm, Shari knew the process that was followed.

All during the growing season, the tobacco rows were walked. The pink and white blossoms that bloomed at the top of the plant were cut off, and any suckers that grew were broken off in an effort to keep the plants from becoming leggy. The better grade of tobacco leaves grew close to the ground.

Come September, the burley would be ready for cutting. Field hands would move up and down the rows, cutting leaf by leaf. Then they’d be stacked in the barn for curing. Shari fondly recalled the times just before auctions when Frederick Lancaster used to pace the barns, praying aloud for a damp, piercing cold to finish the curing process.

Whenever she could, she had attended the auctions with Whit. Harvest times were always so festive with Christmas just around the corner. It almost seemed like a county fair, there was so much excitement going on at the auctions. In the three years she’d been away at college, Shari realized she had missed these simple pleasures.

“You’re far away.” Whit’s quiet voice penetrated her reminiscent thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

She darted a brief glance at him and nodded, turning her gaze back to golding green tobacco fields. “I guess I was,” she admitted.

“What were you thinking about?” His gaze studied her with interest as the chestnut shifted beneath him, stamping at a pesky fly.

“Just … that I’ve missed this.” It was a simple answer, but it covered it all.

“I think you’ve finally come home,” he remarked cryptically and lifted the reins. “Shall we head back? It’s nearly noon.”

“Already?” It didn’t seem possible so much time had passed.

“Yes, already,” Whit confirmed with a half-mocking smile.

They rode back to the stables at a much slower pace, letting the horses cool off. There was little conversation along the way. Shari relaxed still more, listening to the bird songs and smelling the many scents in the fresh air.

Outside the stable doors, they reined in the horses and dismounted. Shari was conscious of her stiffening muscles, unaccustomed to riding after all this time. When the groom came to lead the horses inside their stalls and unsaddle them, she curved an arm under the gray’s neck in a last gesture of affection.

“Why is Rebel getting all the hugs?” Whit asked. “I’m the one responsible for him being here or have you overlooked that?”

“No.” She laughed and moved aside so the groom could lead the gelding away.

When she turned to Whit, she experienced a rush of emotion that wasn’t limited to gratitude. The only outlet to express it seemed to be a physical one. Shari crossed the small space between them and
tightly wound her arms around his middle to hug him. His arms circled her in response as she rested her cheek against his broad chest.

“What made you buy Rebel back for me?” It was something she didn’t understand. And she wanted to, because his answer could mean so much—if it was the right one.

“It isn’t natural the way you’ve been shutting yourself in the house lately. I had to find a way to get you out,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure buying you just any horse would do it. But I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist if the horse was Rebel.”

“You were right,” Shari agreed. It was so easy to enjoy the warmth of his arms without the need to feel on guard.

His head was bent close to her hair. She could feel his breath stirring the black, wind-tousled strands. “Happy?” he murmured.

“Yes.” She raised her head to look up at him, her gaze moving warmly over his handsomely male features. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”

Whit combed his fingers into her hair to hold the side of her face in his palm. “Do you still doubt that I can make you happy?”

“You … could make me very happy,” she admitted, but she knew he hadn’t yet. A quiver of unease ran through her nerves. “Did you buy Rebel to try to bribe me into marrying you?” she demanded warily.

“I don’t have any doubt that you’ll marry me,” he stated.

Bitter tears stung the back of her eyes. How could anyone be so thoughtful yet be so arrogant? Yet she
didn’t try to avoid his kiss when his mouth lowered onto hers. Mentally, Shari could resist his persuasions, but her flesh was too susceptible to his experienced kisses.

His passion remained checked by the publicness of their embrace in the middle of the stable yard. But Whit continued to hold her within the circle of his arms after the kiss was over.

“I know you, Shari,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes and seeing the conflicting emotions. “And I know what you want.”

“No, you don’t,” she denied. “You keep
telling
me you do” just as you keep
telling
me what I’m going to do. You’re wrong.”

“You are stubborn,” Whit declared with a trace of grimness.

Her hands pushed at his waist. “Lunch will be ready.” She used that as an excuse to break off the embrace. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

“Yes, we’d better go to the house,” he agreed and watched her with a certain closeness after he’d let her go.

On the way back to the pillared house, he didn’t hold her hand, or make any attempt to physically direct her course. They were nearly to the steps when Rory intercepted them.

“Was I seeing things?” He directed his puzzled glance to each of them. “I could have sworn I saw Shari riding a gray horse that looked just like Rebel.”

“It was Rebel,” Whit informed him.

“It was?” Rory’s frown deepened. “But where did he come from?”

“Rebel is my engagement present to Shari,” he explained.

“Does that mean you really are engaged to him?” Rory asked her.

“Not as far as I’m concerned,” she replied stiffly and climbed the front steps ahead of them.

Her spoon chased the strawberries in their pool of rich cream, not catching any. Shari didn’t really care. She hadn’t had a taste for them or any of the dinner that had preceded dessert. A feeling of futility continued to plague her as it had all afternoon. Neither her vigorous protests nor her silences had seemed to make any impression on Whit. He hadn’t backed down an inch from his stand that she would marry him, not even relenting so little as to ask her.

“You are very quiet tonight, Shari,” her mother remarked with concern. “Is anything wrong?”

“No,” she lied, aware of the sweep of Whit’s inspecting glance. “I’m just tired I guess.”

She gave up any pretense of finishing her dessert and set her spoon on the bowl’s serving plate. Taking
the napkin from her lap, Shari dabbed the corners of her mouth.

“Aren’t you going to eat any more?” her mother protested. “Strawberries and cream are one of your favorites.”

“I can’t help it if I’m not hungry,” Shari insisted, her frayed nerves giving a trace of sharpness to her answer.

“If you don’t want the rest of them, I’ll take them,” Rory volunteered.

“Be my guest.” She laid the spoon aside and passed the bowl across the table to Rory.

“I don’t know where you put all that food, Rory.” Elizabeth shook her head in vague bewilderment. “You have your father’s appetite.”

Whit wasn’t interested in Rory’s bottomless hunger. Shari had his full attention. “After your ride this morning, I expected you to be ravenous. You barely touched your lunch, and you left half your dinner.”

“I guess I’m tired,” Shari retorted defensively. She didn’t want to explain that he was the cause for her lack of appetite. Her glance ran swiftly to the older man at the head of the table. “May I be excused? I don’t care for any coffee.”

As Frederick Lancaster hesitated, Whit clamped a hand on her wrist to keep her in the chair. “No. Stay here,” he ordered. “I want to have a private talk with you after dinner.”

“What does that mean?” She was irritated with his constant orders and didn’t try to hide it from the others. “That you will do the talking and I will do the listening? That’s usually the way it turns out with you.”

“Shari.” Her mother was shocked by her rudeness. “You shouldn’t speak to Whit like that.”

“I can’t be like you,” Shari flashed. “I can’t be meek and simpering, bowing to his every wish.”

“The shock would kill me if you were,” Whit offered dryly.

“In that case, maybe I should try it,” she threatened. Her hand was doubled into a fist as she tried to twist out of his grip. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave the table. We can have ‘your’ talk in the living room, since you seem to think it’s so important. I’ll wait for you there—and by all means, take your time about joining me.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but she couldn’t keep the hurt bottled up inside her anymore. His mouth thinned into a grim Une as he let her go. Shari didn’t waste time making her excuses to the others at the table. She left the room with her head held unnaturally high.

In the formal living room, she sank immediately onto the plush cushions of the china blue sofa and lowered her head to her hands. She was trembling, too agitated to sit still. Within seconds, she was up, pacing the floor.

When she heard the approaching footsteps and recognized them as belonging to Whit, Shari turned to face the door. Tension electrified every inch of her until she wanted to scream. Hardly any time had passed since she’d left the dining room, yet he was here already.

Whit paused inside the arched doorway and quietly studied her. Shari was tired of always being
on the defensive with him. It constantly put her at a disadvantage.

“I told you there wasn’t any need to hurry,” she flashed. “Did you think I was going to run away?”

“You’ve been known to do that when things aren’t going the way you want,” he replied without any sign of anger.

“That isn’t true.” Shari was angry, because she was again put in the position of defending her actions.

“You ran off to college when Granddad wouldn’t give in to your wishes,” he reminded her. “I had to come and drag you back or have you forgotten that?”

“I hadn’t forgotten.” She didn’t want to discuss it. “I wasn’t running away.”

“What do you call it then?” Whit challenged and came further into the room. “I’d be interested to hear your description of it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she countered with an irritated shrug. “That happened three years ago. It’s water under the bridge now.”

“What about a few weeks ago when you allowed your mother to believe you were vacationing with friends on the Coast? You were actually staying at the condominium. I had to bring you back from there, too.”

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” she demanded.

“No.” He took a deep breath as if preparing himself for the real battle. “I think it’s time we cleared up this business about our engagement.”

Shari stared at him for a stunned instant. Her laugh was a short brittle sound. “I’ve been trying to do that ever since you made that ridiculous announcement,” she declared. “Don’t tell me that you are finally listening to me?”

“Something has been eating at you and I want to know what it is,” Whit stated, completely ignoring her caustic response.

His demand to know what was bothering her caught Shari by surprise. She turned away and blinked back the tears that misted in her green eyes.