Shades Of Gray. Wendy Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ her as he pulled the brown, wide-brimmed hat from his head and tossed it onto the tabletop. He ran his hands through his blond hair, shoving it back from his face.

      She swallowed and inhaled a deep breath. He moved with an unhurried, lazy grace she’d never noticed in another man. And his hair—did it feel soft as silk, as it looked? One breath stumbled over another and sent her heart pounding.

      Don’t be stupid! She forbade herself the least physical reaction to Derek. He presented enough complications to her life as it was.

      “Were you looking for me?” she snapped. “I was on my way to the smokehouse.”

      “We need to talk.”

      “Talk?” He wanted to talk? Already?

      “Talk. As in engage in a discussion.”

      “Yes, I know what it means. But…now?” She swept a quick, agitated gaze around the room. “I’m in the middle of son of a gun stew.”

      He almost smiled. “That’s good news. I expected to have to fetch the doctor if Six kept feeding us. Are you sure you can do it?”

      “I’m an excellent cook.” She drew herself up and threw her shoulders back, emphasizing every capable inch.

      “I didn’t mean that. I meant do you have time?”

      Amber nodded. “I can manage. For a while. At least until you hire more men.”

      “I’ll see if I can find us a cook then.”

      “Well, if that’s all you wanted…” Surreptitiously she stepped to the side, hoping he wouldn’t notice until she had reached the door. How did he manage to fill a room with little more than his presence, or make her feel as though she needed the open skies and fresh air to breathe?

      “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

      “What?” She stopped moving and peered at him—and couldn’t help noticing differences between them. He stood at least six inches taller and outweighed her by close to eighty pounds. His muscled strength was apparent in his arms and chest, even under the fabric of his brown cotton shirt, and his narrow waist made his thighs look like the trunks of large trees.

      She felt like the weakest of saplings next to him.

      “You don’t want to talk to me, do you?” His eyes glittered with challenge, daring her to answer.

      Will you do it? they seemed to demand. Will you tell me the truth, like you promised last night?

      “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because you never seem satisfied with what I say.” It was enough of the truth for now. She just didn’t add that she had trouble concentrating on the things she said because a part of her was too busy noticing him as a man. She had from the very beginning. And that his physical presence made her suddenly aware of herself as a woman.

      She swallowed and added, “And because you never take anything at face value. You always seem to suspect a hidden meaning, an ulterior motive—and you make me…uneasy.” It was a better word than nervous. Or self-conscious.

      “Maybe I wouldn’t have to look for hidden meanings if someone would talk to me. If I didn’t have to pry out every bit of information as if you held the secrets to Lincoln’s assassination and the rest of us had never heard of John Wilkes Booth.”

      She glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to tell that you don’t already know.”

      “Just like I knew that Richard was murdered? Like I know how your father died? Or that you were run out of town?”

      “You didn’t ask those questions,” she said tightly as she battled the urge to throttle him. “It wasn’t my place to tell you anything about Richard’s death. I thought you knew already. The rest of it was none of your business.”

      “None of my business?” He shot her a fierce glare. “I own the Double F. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t expect it. This inheritance was thrust upon me with no warning, no explanation, and I’m entitled to some questions.”

      “Why accept your inheritance then, if you didn’t want it? Why not stay in Charleston with your family and forget about this ranch in godforsaken Texas?”

      Derek closed his eyes for a moment, two, then opened them to reveal a very clear, very blue void. He stared at her with blank simplicity and said, “Will you answer my questions?”

      What choice did she have? She recognized his growing frustration in his inability to find satisfactory answers, but she hated remembering the things he was asking about. She knew so little. Only enough to be frightened.

      She had already far overstepped her bounds with her impudent questions and brazen observations, however. If she continued with such insolence or refused to answer him, he might reconsider his offer.

      She sighed. “All right.”

      “Please sit down.” He gestured to the nearest chair of four that flanked the table.

      She sat, folding her hands together with prim seriousness and resting them on the tabletop. She watched him cautiously, expectantly, but made no attempt to conceal her asperity.

      Derek remained silent, studying her with those brilliant blue eyes that shared nothing of the man behind them. Finally he pulled out a chair, and the wooden legs screeched across the plank floor. He sat, never taking his eyes off her.

      “Frank Edwards said the Double F was once a successful cattle and horse ranch, that the war caused its present condition. Is that true?”

      “For the most part.”

      His mouth tightened. “What is the rest of it, then?”

      She shook her head. “Richard didn’t confide in me, and he stopped discussing business in my presence after my father died. I can only tell you what I witnessed or overheard.”

      “Go on.”

      She took a deep breath and wet her suddenly dry lips with her tongue. “The Double F did very well for a long time. Once the war started, Richard all but worked himself to death to keep it going. But after a while, around the middle of the war, I suppose, he had to slow down.”

      She glanced down at her twined fingers and noticed her knuckles had turned white. She tried to relax her grip. “By then, not only weren’t there enough men, but the Cause desperately needed money, supplies, whatever anyone could spare.” She looked at Derek. “You must know what it was like.”

      He stared back at her, his gaze distant. Eventually he angled his head in her direction. “Yes.”

      “Richard gave all that he could. More than he should.” She smiled sadly. “He had a little cash besides Confederate scrip, which by then was all but worthless, but he couldn’t afford to part with it. He had to start making choices. The cattle and horses came first or there wouldn’t be a ranch, he said, so that’s what he worked to save. Other things just had to be ignored.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ