Ryan's Hand by Leila Meacham

would allow. It was very difficult to meet his eyes. In all fairness, she could not blame him for thinking of her as he did. What in the world had Ryan been thinking to extract such a promise from her?
    “Why?” Jeth asked bluntly, watching her face carefully as if he did not trust her words to reveal the truth.
    “My reasons are personal.”
    “Ah” was Jeth’s only reaction before reaching inside the inner pocket of his Western-cut leather jacket for a slim cigar case. Cara could see the same discreet insignia in gold on it that Ryan’s wallet had borne, but now she knew it was the brand of La Tierra Conquistada, a T crossed with a C. Jeth selected a long, slender cigar and returned the case to his pocket.
    “Ordinarily,” he said, biting off the tip of the cigar with strong white teeth, “I ask a lady’s permission before smoking in her presence. However…” The implication hung in the air along with the tendrils of smoke that fanned from his narrow nostrils. Cara felt a surge of heat on her cheeks. Let him insinuate anything he wished! she thought angrily. Knowing she had no cause to feel ashamed gave her inestimable strength. He could blow as much smoke as he liked!
    “You’ve made your point, Mr. Langston,” Cara stated with a trace of hauteur. “And as a matter of fact, you’re not the first…”
    “You’d better get used to it, Miss Martin. The kindest name I’ve heard in reference to you lately is Ryan’s whore.”
    He had hurt her there, Jeth thought without pleasure, watching the blood drain quickly from her delicate face. She had to look away from him, her eyes apparently seeking refuge in a painting on a far wall. It was a seascape of sand and seagulls and ocean. Home , he surmised, wondering if she missed Boston, if she regretted this course upon which she was embarked. Her expression when she turned to him again was completely composed, revealing nothing. Like him, she too had learned the value of concealing her vulnerabilities.
    “Now,” he continued in the tone of a father who has just satisfactorily reprimanded a child, “back to my original question. Why do you want to come to La Tierra?”
    Suddenly, quite thoroughly, Cara hated him. She fought to keep her body from quivering in cold anger at his overbearing manner. “Back to my original answer, Mr. Langston,” she replied icily. “My reasons are my own.”
    “Shall I take a stab at what those reasons may be, Miss Martin?” Jeth suggested amicably, his mouth quirking in a slight smile that held no humor whatever.
    You may take a straddling leap at a high fence, Cara silently suggested, but refrained from voicing her thought. “Why ask, Mr. Langston, since you intend to tell me anyway?” She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, exposing the smooth, vulnerable line of her throat. Waiting for him to continue, she willed herself not to be affected by his words, however harsh they were. You’re no stranger to pain, she reminded herself. You can bear whatever he says!
    Jeth drew on his cigar, regarding her narrowly through the smoke. For the first time she noticed the handsome, masculine ring he wore on the ring finger of his left hand. It had been designed with a black face on which was engraved the brand of La Tierra Conquistada, set in pavé diamonds. There seemed to be nothing about the man, she grudgingly admitted, that did not declare his wealth and position. The boots, which matched the tan leather of his jacket, were obviously hand sewn. The sharply creased slacks were of fine wool, the complementing beige tie of the finest silk.
    “I can think of three possible reasons for wanting to ensconce yourself at the ranch,” Jeth began, settling comfortably in the chair. “One, you feel that by living there for a year you will better be able to determine the true value of what you’ve inherited to set your price once the estate is settled. Second, I understand that you’ve quit your job. Without an income, you need