Justin and two of the cowhands helped her get her possessions over to Mrs. Simpson’s house. Since the room was furnished, she hadn’t tried to take furniture with her, but she had plenty of clothes and records and books to carry. Her stereo and her color television went with her, along with her memorabilia. It was easier to think about living elsewhere with her belongings around. But after having a home of her own, even if she had shared it with the brothers, it was hard to adjust to a small apartment in someone else’s house.
She gave notice at the feedlot the very next day. It was hard, but Justin seemed to understand. He didn’t say a word. He just smiled.
But Calhoun didn’t understand. He came back unexpectedly in the middle of the following week, and when Abby came back from lunch it was to find him sitting on the corner of her desk, looking worn and smoking like a furnace.
She stared at him with eyes that adored him. It had only been a few days. A little over a week. But she’d ached for him. To be without him was like having part of her body cut away, and she didn’t know how she was going to manage to hide her feelings from him.
He was wearing a beige suit with a striped shirt, and his blond hair gleamed clean and thick in the light from the office window. He scowled over his cigarette.
She straightened the skirt of her pale blue dress nervously, waiting for him to look up. Then he did, and she saw the darkness of his eyes, the faint shadows under them.
He looked at her for a long time, oblivious to the noise around them, the ringing telephones, the buzz of printers. He looked at her until she felt uncomfortably warm and she blushed.
“You’ve moved out,” he said without preamble.
“Yes,” she replied huskily.
“And you’ve put in your notice here.”
She took a deep breath, moving a little closer. He smelled of spice and soap, and she stared unconsciously at his mouth, remembering its exquisite sweetness on her lips. “I…I’m going to work for George Brady and his father,” she said. “At the insurance office. I’m used to working with forms, so it won’t be so unfamiliar.”
“Why?” he ground out.
She smoothed her lower lip with her tongue, looking up at him with soft, wounded eyes.
“Here,” he muttered, catching her arm. He pulled her into his office and closed the door behind them, frowning down at her. He didn’t let go even then. His fingers were warm and firm through her soft sleeve, and their touch made her tingle.
“You know I can’t stay in the house anymore,” she whispered. “You know why.”
“Are you that afraid of me?” he asked quietly.
She shifted restlessly, letting her eyes slide down to his firm jaw. “I’m afraid of what could happen.”
“I see.”
It was embarrassing to talk to him about it, but he had to know how vulnerable she was. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t guessed. She studied his patterned red tie carelessly.
“I suppose I sound conceited,” she added. “But…but if you—” Her eyes closed. “I’m vulnerable,” she whispered. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it. “Oh, Calhoun, I’m so vulnerable—”
“Don’t you think I know?” he said under his breath, and the eyes that met hers were dark with emotion. “Why do you think I left?”
She couldn’t look at him anymore. She felt naked. “Well, I’m saving you from any more complications,” she said tightly. “I won’t be around.”
He couldn’t seem to breathe. His cigarette had burned out, and it hung in his hand, as dead as he felt. “Is that what you want?”
She straightened. “Tyler’s taking me to dinner tonight,” she said out of the blue, just to let him see that she wasn’t going to try to hang on to him or act lovesick. “He’s got a job, too, by the way. He’s going to manage old man Regan’s ranch for him. In no time at all he’ll be settled and able to take on more responsibilities.”
Calhoun’s heart felt like lead in his chest. Was she saying what he thought she was? Was she implying that she might marry Tyler?
“You don’t love him,” he said harshly.
She looked up. “I don’t need to,” she replied quietly. “Love isn’t anything. It’s just an emotion that blinds people to reality.”
“Abby!” he burst out. “You can’t believe that?”
“Look who’s talking.” She glared at him. “You’re the one who said it was for the birds, aren’t you? You’ve never let your emotions get in the way of a good time!”
He took a slow, steadying breath, and his dark eyes searched hers in the static silence that followed. “Maybe that was true a few years ago,” he admitted, his voice deep and slow and measured. “I’ve never had any trouble attracting women, and I had a sizable appetite back then. But I learned that sex by itself has very little flavor, and it didn’t take long to realize that most of those women were trading their bodies for what I could give them.” He laughed bitterly. “How would that appeal to you, tidbit? Being traded a few kisses and a night in bed for a car or a coat or some expensive jewelry, so that you never could be sure that it was you or your wallet they really wanted?”
She’d never heard him talk like this. He never had, at least not to her. She searched his face, finding cynicism and faint mockery in his smile, in his hard eyes.
“You’re very attractive,” she replied. “Surely you know that.”
His big shoulders rose and fell. “Plenty of men are,” he said without conceit. “But I’m rich with it. My money has appeal.”
“Only to a certain type of woman,” she reminded him. “One who doesn’t want ties or emotional liabilities. One with mercenary tendencies who could walk away from you if you lost everything, or if you were sick or old.” She smiled gently. “I suppose you liked that, too. You could be independent and still enjoy yourself.”
He frowned a little, watching her. “I haven’t had a woman since the night you went to the strip show,” he said quietly.
She didn’t want to hear about his love life. She turned her head. “You had dates….”
“Well, my God, I can date women without seducing them!”
“It’s none of my business.” She started to reach for the door-knob, but his big, warm hand engulfed hers, sensuously caressing her fingers as he moved closer, drowning her in the clean cologne-rich scent of him.
“Make it your business,” he said tautly.
She looked up at him slowly, searchingly. But there was nothing readable in his face or his eyes or even the set of his head. It was like trying to learn from stone. “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice faltering.
“I don’t like bridles,” he said shortly. “I don’t like the thought of ropes around me, or a ring through my nose. I hate the thought of marriage.” He grimaced, but his eyes held hers. “But you’re in my blood,” he breathed. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I won’t sleep with you,” she said with quiet pride. “And yes, I want to.” She laughed bitterly. “More than I want to breathe.”
“Yes. I knew that when I left.” He touched her hair, smoothing it, tracing its length down to her shoulder with a possessive touch that made her tremble. “I know all too well how you feel about me. I suspected it the night