to drop.” She did, too. He had just noticed the delicate blue tinges of fatigue beneath the startling eyes. “Now tell me, why do you think you’ll need my protection?”
“Mr. Langston!” Cara regarded him coldly as she sat down. “I may look a fool, but I assure you I’m not! Neither do I think I am addressing one. You know perfectly well why I would want such a guarantee. I could be—I could be—” Desperately she searched for a word that was less graphic than the one that sprang to mind.
“Molested in some way?” he suggested politely, a small smile playing about his strong mouth.
“Yes!” she said in angry embarrassment. “That, or—or beaten and starved—”
“My dear Miss Martin!” Jeth could not suppress his laughter. It had a nice, hearty ring to it, and had he not been laughing at her, she might have enjoyed it. She seethed while, still amused, he blew a final stream of smoke and tamped out the cigar in the ashtray. “You’ve been seeing too many Italian Westerns,” he chuckled.
“I see no Italian Westerns, Mr. Langston. I do not care for them. I am merely stating the obvious vindictive approach you and the people who work for you might take toward me for what you suppose I did to Ryan—”
“Suppose? Did you say suppose , Miss Martin?” He was out of his chair before she could blink, all humor vanished, the arctic coldness back in his eyes. “Let’s get a few facts straight,” he said very clearly, bending down to imprison her in the chair by clasping each of its arms. “I don’t like dealing in suppositions.”
Cara shrank back from him, the closeness of the granite features and the unaccustomed male scents of cologne and leather and tobacco sending her senses spinning. “Now these are the facts as I see them. I am sure you will correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Given the opportunity,” Cara managed, pressing back against the chair.
“You prevented my brother from coming home to die. Oh, he came back for a last token visit, but he never mentioned he was dying. If I had known his illness was terminal, I would have kept him there, and that would have meant curtains for you. I would have found out about the altered will.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it, Miss Martin? Then why didn’t he tell me about you, the woman he loved? Why didn’t he tell me about the change in the will? Ryan would have known that I would have accepted any decision he made concerning his half of La Tierra. It was his to do with as he chose.”
“Mr. Langston, I honestly don’t know the answers to those questions—” He was so close. If she moved, they would touch.
“Then try this one. Why didn’t you tell me he was dying? You had to have known that I didn’t know. You were the woman who answered the phone a few weeks ago when I called, weren’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Cara could not answer. Helplessly, she stared into the suddenly bleak eyes. No wonder Jeth Langston despised her. It was not the loss of the land that sharpened the edge of his hate against her, but the belief that she had denied him the last days of his brother’s life.
“What power you had over him, Cara!” Jeth said in soft anguish. “A man doesn’t need much imagination to know how you made sure he returned to Boston. I’m sure you had your ways of convincing him that your arms were better for holding him in his final days than mine would have been.”
A stab of pity for him brought the shine of tears to her eyes. She would not, could not, add to this man’s grief by telling him that Ryan himself had refused to return home to die. Without meaning to, she looked longingly at the broad set of shoulders encased in the buttery soft leather. She was so desperately tired. How pleasant it would be to slip her arms around that strong neck and rest her cheek against the leather’s yielding softness. Instead, she closed her eyes and lowered her head wearily, feeling a strand of hair brush Jeth’s
“Mr. Langston!” Cara regarded him coldly as she sat down. “I may look a fool, but I assure you I’m not! Neither do I think I am addressing one. You know perfectly well why I would want such a guarantee. I could be—I could be—” Desperately she searched for a word that was less graphic than the one that sprang to mind.
“Molested in some way?” he suggested politely, a small smile playing about his strong mouth.
“Yes!” she said in angry embarrassment. “That, or—or beaten and starved—”
“My dear Miss Martin!” Jeth could not suppress his laughter. It had a nice, hearty ring to it, and had he not been laughing at her, she might have enjoyed it. She seethed while, still amused, he blew a final stream of smoke and tamped out the cigar in the ashtray. “You’ve been seeing too many Italian Westerns,” he chuckled.
“I see no Italian Westerns, Mr. Langston. I do not care for them. I am merely stating the obvious vindictive approach you and the people who work for you might take toward me for what you suppose I did to Ryan—”
“Suppose? Did you say suppose , Miss Martin?” He was out of his chair before she could blink, all humor vanished, the arctic coldness back in his eyes. “Let’s get a few facts straight,” he said very clearly, bending down to imprison her in the chair by clasping each of its arms. “I don’t like dealing in suppositions.”
Cara shrank back from him, the closeness of the granite features and the unaccustomed male scents of cologne and leather and tobacco sending her senses spinning. “Now these are the facts as I see them. I am sure you will correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Given the opportunity,” Cara managed, pressing back against the chair.
“You prevented my brother from coming home to die. Oh, he came back for a last token visit, but he never mentioned he was dying. If I had known his illness was terminal, I would have kept him there, and that would have meant curtains for you. I would have found out about the altered will.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it, Miss Martin? Then why didn’t he tell me about you, the woman he loved? Why didn’t he tell me about the change in the will? Ryan would have known that I would have accepted any decision he made concerning his half of La Tierra. It was his to do with as he chose.”
“Mr. Langston, I honestly don’t know the answers to those questions—” He was so close. If she moved, they would touch.
“Then try this one. Why didn’t you tell me he was dying? You had to have known that I didn’t know. You were the woman who answered the phone a few weeks ago when I called, weren’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Cara could not answer. Helplessly, she stared into the suddenly bleak eyes. No wonder Jeth Langston despised her. It was not the loss of the land that sharpened the edge of his hate against her, but the belief that she had denied him the last days of his brother’s life.
“What power you had over him, Cara!” Jeth said in soft anguish. “A man doesn’t need much imagination to know how you made sure he returned to Boston. I’m sure you had your ways of convincing him that your arms were better for holding him in his final days than mine would have been.”
A stab of pity for him brought the shine of tears to her eyes. She would not, could not, add to this man’s grief by telling him that Ryan himself had refused to return home to die. Without meaning to, she looked longingly at the broad set of shoulders encased in the buttery soft leather. She was so desperately tired. How pleasant it would be to slip her arms around that strong neck and rest her cheek against the leather’s yielding softness. Instead, she closed her eyes and lowered her head wearily, feeling a strand of hair brush Jeth’s
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