Rawhide and Lace. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ with the younger brother he hardly knew, but surely there was still time. There had to be time!

      A green-uniformed man walked into the waiting area, removing his mask and cap as he walked toward the taller man.

      “Mr. Wade?” he asked politely.

      Ty moved forward quickly. “How’s my brother?” he asked brusquely.

      The doctor started to speak. Then he turned, drawing Ty down the white corridor and into a small unoccupied examination room.

      “I’m sorry,” the doctor said then, gently. “There was too much internal damage. We lost him.”

      Ty didn’t flinch. He’d had years of practice at hiding pain, at keeping his deeper feelings under control. A man who looked like he did couldn’t afford the luxury of letting them show. He just stood there, unmoving, studying the doctor’s round face while he tried to cope with the knowledge that he’d never see his brother again; that he was totally alone now. He had no one. “Was it quick?” he asked finally.

      The doctor nodded. “He was unconscious when he was admitted. He never came out of it.”

      “There was another car involved,” Ty said, almost as an afterthought. “Was anyone else badly hurt?”

      Dr. Lawson smiled with faint irony. “No. The other car was one of those old gas-guzzlers. It was hardly dented. Your brother was driving a small sports car, a convertible. When it rolled, he didn’t have a chance.”

      Ty had tried to talk Bruce out of that car, but to no avail. Any kind of advice was unwelcome if it came from big brother. That was one of the by-products of their parents’ divorce. Bruce had been raised by their mother, Ty by their father. And the difference in the upbringings was striking, even to outsiders.

      The doctor had paused long enough to produce Bruce’s personal effects. The soiled clothing was there, along with a handful of change, some keys, and a clip of hundred-dollar bills. Ty looked at them blankly before stuffing them back into the sack.

      “What a hell of a waste,” Ty said quietly. “He was twenty-eight.”

      “I’m sorry we couldn’t save him,” Dr. Lawson repeated softly, sincerely.

      Ty nodded, lost in bitter memories and regret. “He couldn’t even save himself. Fast cars, fast women, alcohol…They said he wasn’t legally drunk.” His silver-gray eyes met and held the doctor’s in a level gaze.

      Dr. Lawson nodded.

      “He usually drank far too much,” Ty said, staring at the sack. “I tried so damned hard to talk him out of that convertible.” He sighed heavily. “I talked until I was blue.”

      “If you’re a religious man, Mr. Wade, I can tell you that I still believe in acts of God. This was one.”

      Ty searched the other man’s eyes. After a minute, he nodded. “Thanks.”

      It was misting rain outside, cold for Texas in November, but he hardly felt it. All that rushing around, he thought blankly, and for what? To get there too late. All his life, where Bruce was concerned, he’d been too late.

      It seemed so unreal to think of Bruce as dead. He and Bruce had been a lot alike in looks, at least. Both were dark and light-eyed, except that Bruce’s eyes had been more blue than gray. He’d been six years younger than Ty and shorter, more adventurous, more petted. Bruce had been spoiled with easy living and an abundance of attention from their mother. Ty had been raised by their rancher father, a cold, practical, no-nonsense man who looked upon women as a weakness and brought Ty up to feel the same way. Ironically, it was Erin who’d finally separated Bruce from Ty and the ranch.

      Erin. His eyes closed briefly as he pictured her, laughing, running to him, her hair long and black and straight, her elfin face bright with joy, her green eyes twinkling, laughing, as her full, soft lips smiled up at him. He groaned.

      He leaned his tall, elegant body against the Lincoln as he lit a cigarette. The flare of the match accentuated his high cheekbones, his aquiline nose, the jut of his chin. There was nothing in his face that a woman would find attractive, and he knew it. He had no illusions about his looks. Perhaps that was why he’d attacked Erin on sight, he reflected. She’d been a model when Bruce met her in nearby San Antonio and brought her home for a weekend visit. Young but already well-known, Erin was destined for greater things. That first day, she’d walked into the Wade house with her elfin face excited and friendly, and Ty had stood like stone in the long hallway and glared at her until the vividness of her expression had faded into uncertainty and, then, disappointment.

      She’d been so beautiful. A living illusion. All his secret dreams of perfection rolled into one flawless, willowy body and exquisitely sculpted face. Then Bruce had put his arm around her and looked at her with unashamed worship, and Ty had felt himself growing cold inside. She’d been Bruce’s from the very beginning, a prize he’d brought home to big brother, to fling in his arrogant face.

      He took a long draw from the cigarette and stared at its amber tip in the misting rain. How long ago it all seemed! But all of it had taken place in just a year’s time. The first meeting, the long weekends when Erin came to the ranch and slept in the guest room in order to observe “the proprieties.” Conchita, the housekeeper, had taken to Erin immediately, fussing and bustling over her like a mother hen. And Erin had loved it. Her father was dead, her mother constantly flying off to somewhere in Europe. In many ways, Ty thought, her life had been as unloving and cold as his own.

      He took another draw from his cigarette and blew out a thick cloud of smoke, his silvery eyes narrowing with memory as he stared sightlessly at the deserted parking lot. He’d antagonized Erin from the start, picking at her, deliberately making her as uncomfortable as possible. She’d taken that smoldering dislike at face value until one dark, cold night when Bruce had been called out on urgent business. Erin and Ty had been alone in the house, and he’d antagonized her one time too many.

      He vividly remembered the look in her green eyes when, after she’d slapped him, he’d jerked her into his hard arms and kissed the breath out of her. Her lips had been like red berries, soft and slightly swollen, her eyes wide and soft and dazed. And to his astonishment, instead of slapping him again, she’d reached up to him, her mouth ardent and sweet, her body clinging like ivy to the strength of his.

      It had been like a dream sequence. Her mouth, dark, soft wine under his hard lips; her body, welcoming. Soft cushions on the floor in front of the fireplace, her hushed, ragged breathing as he’d bared her breasts and touched them, her shocked cry as he’d touched her intimately and begun to undress her. But she hadn’t stopped him; she hadn’t even tried. He remembered her voice in his ear, whispering endearments, her hands tenderly caressing his nape as he’d moved her under him.

      He ground his teeth together. He hadn’t known, hadn’t guessed, that she was a virgin. He’d never forget the tormented sound of her voice, the wide-eyed fear that had met his puzzled downward glance. He’d tried to stop, so shocked that he wasn’t even thinking…but she’d held him. No, she’d whispered, it was too late to stop now, the damage was already done. And he’d gone on. He’d been so careful then, so careful not to hurt her any more than he already had. But he’d given her no pleasure. He knew, even though she’d tried not to let him see her disappointment. And before he could try again, could even begin to show her any real tenderness, they’d heard Bruce’s car coming up the long driveway. Then, with reality, had come all the doubts, all the hidden fears. And he’d laughed, taunting her with her easy surrender. Get out, he’d СКАЧАТЬ