“And the cowhands?”
“You’ve met Toby, I presume.”
Faron nodded. When Madelyn said nothing more he realized the middle-aged cowboy was all there was. “Who takes care of things around here?” he demanded.
“Why, Belinda does, of course,” Madelyn said.
Faron stared hard at his stepmother. That wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear.
“I can see you two need to discuss business,” Madelyn said. “So I’ll just excuse myself and go upstairs and get some rest.”
Faron stood and escorted his grandmother to the door of the dining room, sliding the wooden door closed behind her. Then he turned back to the woman who had become his nemesis—and his desire.
Faron stared at Belinda with narrowed eyes. “How bad is it?” he demanded.
She laced her hands together calmly. “It’s as bad as you think it is. We’re as poor as church mice. If something isn’t done to make King’s Castle salable, Madelyn and I will be penniless and homeless within the year.”
Faron fisted his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. He might have been able to leave Belinda to her fate, but there was no way he could stand by and watch his own grandmother be put out in the street.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll hang around long enough to help put the place in shape to sell. But as soon as we find a buyer, I’m out of here!”
“No one could want to leave this place more than I do!” Belinda said vehemently. “There are no happy memories here for me!”
“No one forced you to marry my father,” Faron snarled. “You made your own bed. Now you have to lie in it. Just don’t expect me to join you there.”
Belinda’s face blanched white. She could feel his fury, his hate and his desire. She had learned from Wayne how to avoid confrontation. It didn’t always work, but often enough it had saved her a bruise or a blackened eye. She put those lessons to good use now.
She lowered her eyelids to hide the anger blazing there. She rose and smoothed the front of her skirt with hands that appeared much more calm than they were. In a soft, deferential voice she said, “I believe I’ll retire now.”
When Faron took a step toward Belinda, her eyes flashed defiance. She would not become a victim, ever again. “Keep your distance, Cowboy!”
He took another step toward her.
“I’m warning you—”
Then it was too late. He had her in his arms before she could turn and run.
“Let me go,” she cried breathlessly. “This is wrong!”
“It’s a little late for that argument, don’t you think, Princess?”
“I didn’t know who you were! I never would have…”
“Never would have rolled in the grass with your stepson?” Faron finished for her.
Tears blurred Belinda’s vision. She held herself stiff in Faron’s arms. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
“No, you don’t,” he murmured.
The hardest thing Faron had ever done was to let her go. His body was hard and throbbing with need. It didn’t matter one bit that she was his father’s widow. But he had to work side by side with her over the next several weeks—or months. It was going to be awkward enough being together every day without knowing for sure that she still desired him as much as he desired her.
“Where do I sleep?” he asked.
Belinda was quivering with relief—or unsatisfied desire. She wasn’t willing to examine her feelings closely enough to find out. “Follow me,” she said. “I’ll show you where your room is.”
Once again Faron found himself staring into violet eyes that had turned to ice. He followed her up one half of the curving staircase to a room that might have welcomed some cowboy a hundred years ago. It was furnished sparingly with a maple four-poster, a dry sink, a chest and a rocker. A rag rug covered a small area of the oak hardwood floor. The lamp was electric, but it was Victorian in style.
The connected bathroom had a tub on legs and a pedestal sink. “The linens on the rack are for your use,” she said.
Belinda was aware of the confines of the bathroom. She edged her way past the Cowboy and back into the more spacious bedroom. “If you need anything…”
“I’ll be fine,” Faron said, realizing that she didn’t want to spend any more time with him than she had to. “Good night, Princess,” he said. His eyes said what he didn’t put in words. He wanted her. She was welcome to stay.
Belinda didn’t bother to answer. She did what any self-respecting Princess would have done when the dragon started breathing fire. She fled to her room.
FARON WAS ASTOUNDED AT HOW MUCH Belinda knew about the business affairs of King’s Castle. Unfortunately, the more he learned from her, the more grim-lipped he became. Because things were every bit as bad as she had suggested they were.
“I don’t know how you’ve kept the bank from foreclosing before now,” he muttered when he was done examining his father’s records.
“Can anything be done to save King’s Castle?”
Faron felt his gut tighten as he met Belinda’s expectant gaze across the width of the oak rolltop desk in Wayne’s study. Even now he wanted her. This morning her golden hair was confined in a single tail that fell over her shoulder, and she was wearing a Western shirt, jeans and boots. She reminded him much too much of his prairie Princess.
He leashed his memories of the previous day and concentrated on the matter at hand. “We can’t do it alone,” he said. “We’ll have to hire some help.”
Belinda wiped her palms down the length of her jeans, unaware of the way Faron’s gray-green eyes followed her gesture. “I don’t have money for that.”
“I do.”
Belinda frowned. “I can’t let you spend your money.”
“You can’t stop me,” Faron retorted. “According to my father’s will I own half of King’s Castle. If something isn’t done, the bank is going to take my inheritance. It’s no skin off your nose if I invest my money to save my half of this place.”
Belinda’s lip curled in a wry smile. “You’ll also be saving my half,” she pointed out.
“I don’t want to see my grandmother put out in the street.”
Belinda’s smile twisted into something more cynical. “And you have to save me to save her, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“Where do we start?” Belinda asked.
Faron arched a disdainful brow. “We?”
“I presume you have some plan in mind. Things that have to be done. I want to help.”
“What is it you think you can do?” Faron asked. He preferred to keep her—and temptation—as far from him as possible.
Belinda’s chin came up pugnaciously. “What do you need done?”
Faron tried to think of something that would impress upon his stepmother—he had to keep reminding himself how Belinda had deceived him about her identity—how very much work was involved in restoring King’s Castle to its former greatness.
Not one, but several ideas caught his fancy. He reached out and grabbed Belinda’s hand