A vacation at her godmother’s ranch near Abilene would have been the perfect place for Maggie Turner to escape her ex-husband’s threats. Perfect, that is, if it hadn’t been for Gabe Coleman. Tall, lithe and lean, he was just as blunt, rude—and powerfully sensual—as he’d been ten years ago.

His cold formality gave her the goose bumps. And his icy blue eyes watched her like those of a hungry cat—daring her to look beneath his savage surface. She thought marriage had cured her of desire. Then the raging passions of a Texas cowboy gave her a new lease on love.

Rage of Passion

THE

ESSENTIAL COLLECTION

New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my niece Helen, who sews a fine seam

Dear Reader,

I really can't express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.

But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can't imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.

I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job, and my private life, so worth living.

Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.

Diana Palmer

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

The telegram crumpled in the slender hand, a scrap of badly used timber that would have served better as the tree it once was. Pale green eyes stared down at it, hated it.

“Is it bad news, Mama?”

Becky's soft young voice broke through the anguish, brought her back to the reality of the huge empty Victorian house and the plain, withdrawn child.

“What, darling?” Her voice sounded odd. She cleared her throat and helplessly twisted the crumpled telegram in her hand. “Bad news? Well…yes.”

Becky sighed. She was so old for six, Maggie sometimes thought. Her life had been disordered from the very beginning. An exclusive boarding school hadn't made her an extrovert; it had only emphasized her painful shyness, made it more obvious.

“Is it Daddy again?” Becky asked quietly. She read the answer in her mother's worried eyes and shrugged. “Well, Auntie Janet is coming today,” she said with childlike enthusiasm and smiled. “That should make you feel better.”

Margaret Turner smiled back. Her daughter's rare smiles were magic. “So she is, although she isn't really your aunt. She's my godmother. She and your Grandmother Turner were best friends. What a nice surprise for us, meeting her last week. She didn't even know I had you, you lovely little surprise, you.”

Becky giggled—one of those sweet sounds that Maggie had heard so seldom lately. The boarding school was taking its toll on Becky, but there'd been no choice about it once Maggie went to work. She had no one to keep Becky after school, and her job meant occasional long hours and Saturday work. That left the child vulnerable, and Dennis wasn't above taking her away and hiding her somewhere. He was capable of anything where money was involved. And this newest threat, this telegram, made it plain that he was going to sue for full custody of Rebecca. He wanted Maggie to know immediately that he'd just given his lawyer the green light to go back to court.

Maggie swept back a strand of her short dark hair, which was very straight, curving into her high cheekbones. She was slender and tall, a good silhouette for the clothes that were such a rage this season. Not that she was buying new clothes. Thanks to her ex-husband's incredible alimony suit against her—which he'd won—and the fact that her attorneys were still draining her financially, times were getting harder by the day.

About all that was left was this white elephant they lived in and a relatively new car—and Becky's trust. Maggie's own father had never approved of her marriage to Dennis, although—at the time—she hadn't understood why. He'd cut Maggie out of his will entirely, leaving everything in trust for Becky. Maggie hadn't known this until his death, and she'd never forget the outburst from Dennis at the reading of the will. Her heart already broken, his callous attitude had taken the last of her spirit. After that, she hadn't really felt alive at all. She'd kept going for Becky's sake, not her own.

Dennis had tried to break the will. It couldn't be broken, but there were loopholes that would allow the administrator of the trust to sell stocks and bonds and reinvest them. Maggie could imagine what Dennis would do with that kind of control; in no time he'd have reduced Becky to poverty, robbed her of her inheritance.

As it was, Maggie was working long hours in a bookstore to make ends meet. She loved books, and the job was nice. But being without her daughter wasn't. She prayed for the day when she could bring Becky home and not have to worry that Dennis might kidnap her if she was left with a sitter. It was a good thing that Maggie didn't have a social life. But even in the days when her family had been wealthy and she'd had every advantage, she'd never cared for socializing. She'd kept to herself and avoided the fast crowds. She'd been much like Becky as a child—shy and introverted. She still was.

“I won't have to live with Daddy, will I?” Becky asked suddenly, and the look in her big eyes was poignant.

“Oh, darling, of course you won't!” Maggie drew the spindly-legged child close to her, caressing the incredibly thick hair that trailed down her daughter's ramrod-stiff back. Becky was all she had in the world now, the most precious thing she had left; the only thing of worth to come from the six-year marriage that she'd finally garnered enough courage to end just months before. The instant the divorce had become final, she'd gone back to using her maiden name, Turner. She wanted nothing of Dennis in her life—not even his name.

“Never,” Maggie added absently. “You won't have to live with him.”

That might become a well-meant lie, she thought miserably as she cuddled her daughter, because Dennis was threatening to take Becky from her. They both knew that all he wanted was the mammoth trust Alvin Turner had set up for his grandchild before his death. Whoever had responsibility for Becky had access to that fortune. So far, Maggie had managed to keep the child out of her ex-husband's hands. He'd already announced his engagement to the woman he'd moved in with following the divorce, and Maggie's attorney was worried that Dennis might get the edge in a custody suit if he had a stable family life to offer little Rebecca.

Stability! If there was one thing Dennis Blaine didn't possess, it was stability. She should never have married him. She'd gone against her father's wishes, and against the advice of Aunt Janet. It had been a whirlwind courtship, and they'd made a handsome couple—the shy young debutante from San Antonio and the up-and-coming young salesman. Only after the wedding and her subsequent immediate pregnancy did Maggie learn that Dennis's main ambition was wealth, not a happy marriage. He liked women—and one wasn't enough. Barely three weeks after their wedding, he was having an affair with another woman, mostly as an act of vengeance against Maggie, who'd refused to stake him in a get-rich-quick scheme he'd concocted.

She sighed over her daughter's silky hair. Dennis, she'd discovered, had a vindictive nature, and it had grown worse as time passed. His affairs were legion. She'd tried to leave him, and he'd beaten her. It was the first and last time. She'd threatened to go to the police, with all the scandal that would have raised, and he'd promised in tears never to do it again. But there were other ways he'd been able to get back at her, especially after Becky came along. More than once he'd threatened to abduct the child and hide her if Maggie didn't go along with his demands for more money.

In the end, it had been because of Becky that she'd moved out and filed for divorce. Dennis had brought one of his ladyloves into the house and had been cavorting with her in bed when Becky had come home unexpectedly and found them. Dennis had threatened Becky, warning her not to tell what she'd seen. But Becky was spunky. She had told. And that very day, Maggie had moved with the child back to her old family home in San Antonio. Thank God her parents had held on to the house even after they'd moved to Austin.

Dennis, meanwhile, had cut his losses and stayed in Austin, where he and Maggie had lived together for the six years of their disastrous marriage. Once the divorce had become final, he'd initiated a grueling lawsuit—with Maggie's money, ironically enough—and had ultimately been granted visitation rights.

Well, she wasn't giving up her child to that money-grubbing opportunist. She said so, frequently. But Dennis's forthcoming remarriage could cause some devilish problems. She didn't quite know what to do, how to handle this new development.

“Couldn't we run away?” Becky asked as she drew back. “We could go live with Aunt Janet and her family, couldn't we? They own a real ranch, and Aunt Janet's so nice. She said after she visits us, we could visit her and ride horses—”

“I'm afraid we can't do that,” Maggie said quickly, forcing down the image of Gabriel Coleman that swam with sickening intensity before her eyes. He frightened her, colored her dreams, even though it had been years since she'd seen him. Even now, she could close her eyes, and there he was. Big, lean, rawhide tough. All man. Dennis wouldn't dare threaten her around Gabe, but Maggie was too frightened of him to ask for sanctuary. It was a well-known fact that Janet and her son didn't get along. Maggie had enough problems already without adding Gabe's antagonism to them. He didn't care for her. He thought of her as a bored socialite; he always had. She was prejudged and predamned in his pale eyes. She'd never stood a chance with him, even in her younger days. He hadn't given her a second look. Once, she'd wanted him to. But after Dennis, she'd had too many scars for another relationship. Especially with a man like Gabriel, who was so much a man.

“But why can't we?” Becky persisted, all eyes—green eyes, like her mother's.

“Because I have a job,” Maggie said absently, smoothing the long silky hair of the little girl. “Well, except for this month-long vacation I'm getting while Trudie is in Europe. She owns the shop, you see.” Trudie had decided that Maggie needed some time off, too, and she'd closed up shop despite the loss of cash. It was one of many reasons that Maggie loved her friend so much.

“Then can't we go home with Aunt Janet? Oh, can't we?” Becky pleaded, all but jumping up and down in her enthusiasm.

“No, and you mustn't ask her, either,” Maggie said shortly. “Anyway, you have one more week at school before vacation. You have to go back and finish out the semester.”

“Yes, Mama,” Becky sighed, giving in without a fight.

“Good girl. Suppose you dash out to the kitchen and remind Mary that we're to have an apple pie tonight in Aunt Janet's honor,” she added with a smile.

“Yes, Mama,” Becky agreed, brightening. She ran, skirts flying, out of the immaculate living room with its wing chairs and Chippendale sofa—beautiful relics of a more graceful age—down the long hall toward the spacious kitchen.

The house had been in Maggie's family for eighty years or more. It was here that she and Dennis had spent an occasional weekend with her mother after her father's death from a heart attack, but she didn't mind the memories as much as she would have minded losing the home place. She touched the arm of the sofa lovingly. Her mother had sat here in happier days, doing embroidery, while her father had sprawled in the big armchair on his visits home—and they'd been few, those last years, because as an ambassador his duty had kept him away.

Maggie's mother had traveled with him until ill health had forced her to remain in Texas. She'd died within six months of her tragic loss, swiftly following the husband she'd adored. Maggie often thought that such love was a rare thing. Certainly she hadn't found it in her marriage. She wondered if she ever would find it. She was much too frightened to take the chance a second time; the risk, to Becky, was even greater than the risk to herself.

She studied her slender hands quietly, drinking in the subtle scent of lavender that clung like dust to the old furniture. A knock on the door disturbed her thoughts, then the knob twisted and Janet Coleman breezed in.

“Darling! Oh, it's so hot outside! Why I keep an apartment in San Antonio I don't know, when I could have one someplace cold.”

Like a white-haired whirlwind, Janet embraced the younger, taller woman with a deep sigh.

“You must love the city. You've had that apartment ever since I can remember.” Maggie smiled, drawing back to stare down at the older woman in the chic gray suit.

“I've got my nerve, haven't I, inviting myself for dinner.” Janet laughed. “But I couldn't resist it. It's been so many years, and to run into you out of the blue in that department store! Shocking, to think I didn't even know about Becky! And here you'd been married for six years, and getting a divorce…” She shook her head. “I miss your mother so much. I have no one to talk to these days, with the girls away from home and Gabe so business oriented. And,” she added quietly, “I'm hardly ever at the ranch these days myself. I've been in Europe for the past seven months.”

Maggie had gone to boarding school with the girls, Audrey and Robin—the same school, in fact, that Becky was in now.

“Audrey is living with a man in Chicago,” Janet said, exasperated. She flushed a little at Maggie's pointed stare. “Yes, that's what I said. Isn't it outrageous? I know it's the in thing to do these days, but honestly, Maggie, I had to stop Gabriel from getting the next train up there. He was all for putting a bullet in the man. You know Gabe.”

Maggie nodded. Yes, that was Gabe all right. His answer to most things was physical. She trembled a little with inner reaction to him—a reaction that had always been there, but one she'd never really understood.

“I talked him out of it, but he's still simmering.” She shuddered delicately. “I just hope Audrey has the good sense to stay away until he cools down. He'd have them married at gunpoint.”

“Yes, I don't doubt it. How's Robin?” she added with a smile, because she liked Janet's younger daughter.

“She's still trying to be an oil rigger.” Janet shook her head. “She says it's what she wants to do.”

“Times have changed, Janet.” Maggie laughed. “Women are taking over the world.”

“Please don't say that in front of Gabe,” the older woman murmured dryly. “He doesn't like the modern world.”

“Neither do I, at times.” Maggie sighed. She stared at Janet. “Is he still ranching?”

“With a vengeance. It's roundup time, darling.” Janet laughed. “He doesn't speak to anyone for days during roundup. He's hardly even home anymore. He has board meetings and buying trips and selling trips and seminars, and he sits on the boards of God knows how many corporations and colleges and banks…Even when I'm home, he never listens to me.”

“Does he know about Becky and me?” she wondered aloud.

“I've mentioned your mother over the years,” Janet said. “But no, I don't suppose I've had a lot to say about you. He's so touchy when I mention women, I've given up trying. I did find this lovely girl and I brought her out to the ranch to meet him.” Janet flushed. “It was terrible.” She shook her head. “Since then, I've decided that it's better if I let him lead his own life. So I don't mention anybody to him. Especially eligible women,” she added with a pert laugh.

Maggie shook her head. “Well, he'd never have to worry about me. I'm off men for life!”

“I can understand why,” Janet muttered. “I never liked that man. He smiled too much.”

This from a woman whose son was a caveman…. But Maggie wasn't going to remark on that. She had no use at all for that kind of man. She'd had enough of being afraid and dominated and intimidated. No man was ever going to get the chance to do to her what Dennis had. Not ever again.

“If only Gabe would get married,” Janet said. And there was such bitter remorse in her voice. “He never had the chance to do the things most young men do. I feel responsible for that, sometimes.” The remorse in the tired old voice made Maggie feel sympathetic.

She knew about Janet's family, of course. Janet and her own mother had been best friends for years, and Maggie had learned things about the other family, especially the one son, that she wished she could forget. Janet's girls had been spoiled rotten by two doting parents, and that hadn't helped. After Jonathan Coleman's death, Audrey had run wild and Robin had gone off to college. Gabe was left at the head of the massive ranch holding—with no help at all from his family, none of whom knew anything about business.

Gabe had shouldered the burden, though, and that strong back had never bent in all the years since. Maggie had always admired his strength. He was unique. A pioneer with a rugged spirit and a savage determination to persevere.

“Here's my Becky,” Janet gushed, opening her arms to the little girl, who darted into them with unabashed affection.

“Oh, Auntie Janet, I'm so glad you came,” Becky enthused. Becky had taken instantly to the older woman during that chance meeting, and when she'd learned that Maggie was Janet's goddaughter, she'd “adopted” herself as Janet's niece. Maggie hadn't fussed, and Janet had been delighted. The poor child had no other living relatives, except her terror of a father.

Becky hugged the old lady tightly, her eyes closed. She drew back a long minute later. “My daddy is trying to make me come and live with him, and I told Mama we should run away, but she won't.”

Janet darted a searching glance at Maggie, who was standing red-faced in the center of the kitchen while old Mary gaped briefly at the small group before ambling back to her tea cakes and silverware. Mary had been with the family since Maggie was a child. She didn't work for them full-time anymore but only came in when she needed a little extra money—and Maggie often worked overtime to provide that money, to help the woman who'd been so much a part of her childhood.

“So that's still going on, is it?” Janet asked haughtily. “Really, dear, you should let me ask Gabriel to speak to Dennis. He wouldn't mind.”

Maggie could just imagine Gabriel doing anything for her. It was whimsical. She shrugged. “My attorneys are handling it, but thank you for the offer.”

“I feel guilty. I've lost touch with you all since you moved to Austin,” Janet said. “If it hadn't been for our chance meeting downtown, I wouldn't have invited myself to visit you.”

“You know you're always welcome here,” Maggie chided.

Janet searched her face quietly. “I've been away too long, haven't I, dear? I should have been keeping an auntly eye on you.” She shook her head. “I lose track of things these days. Absentmindedness, I suppose. I remembered after I ran into you that I hadn't ever mentioned your marriage to the girls. That's how terrible I am.”

“We haven't seen each other in a long time,” Maggie reminded her with a smile. “But it's so nice to have you here.” She led Janet into the dining room, where the older woman sat down at the cherrywood table, fanning herself with her hand.

“Darling, it's so hot, even for spring. How ever do you stand it?”

“I'll get you a fan,” Becky volunteered, and opened the buffet drawer, pulling out a large wooden fan with a beautiful spring scene on one side and the name of a local funeral parlor in huge black letters on the other.

Janet smiled appreciatively at her and began to fan herself furiously. “If you only had air conditioning.” She shook her head. “We had to put it in two years ago. The heat is getting more unbearable every year.”

Becky seated herself primly in a chair beside Janet while Mary bustled around serving tea cakes and steaming cups of freshly brewed tea. Afterward, Becky was sent out to play and Mary went into the kitchen to finish dinner and watch the little girl out the back window.

“Now,” Janet said firmly, transfixing Maggie with those piercing light eyes. “Let's hear it all.”

Maggie knew she had no choice, so she told her godmother everything. It felt good to get it off her chest. It had been so long since she'd had anybody she could talk to.

Janet listened, only occasionally asking questions. When Maggie had finished, she stared into her teacup for a minute, then spoke. “Come home with me,” she said, looking up. “You need a little time away, to think things through. The ranch is the perfect refuge—and the one place Dennis won't come looking for you.”

That was true enough. Dennis, like Maggie, had heard plenty about Gabriel Coleman, and Dennis wasn't suicidal.

“But what about Becky?” Maggie asked. “I can't take her out of school now….”

“We'll come back for her week after next,” Janet assured her. “She's in boarding school, darling. They won't let Dennis have her without a court order. She'll be safe.”

Maggie fingered her cup with a sigh. It sounded like heaven—to get away from the city, to be able to think in placid surroundings. If only it weren't for Gabriel…

Memories of him had colored her young life for years. He was stamped permanently on her thoughts like an indelible ink. She knew so much about him. Like the time he'd forced some rustlers off the road into a ditch and held the three men with a shotgun until one of his hands got the sheriff there. Then there was the knockdown-drag-out fight with one of his men right in the street.

Maggie had actually witnessed that. Sometimes she wondered if it hadn't happened because of her. She'd been spending a couple of weeks with his sisters at the ranch when she was about sixteen. They'd gone into town with Janet to shop, driven by one of the hands, a new man with too-interested eyes and a way of talking to the young girls that amused Robin and Audrey but terrified Maggie. Gabe had been at the hardware store, right next door to the grocery store where Janet shopped. And when the girls had come out, the new man had put his hand on Maggie's waist and insolently let it drop to her hip in a blatant caress.

Gabe had moved over a rack of shovels with alarming speed, and his powerful fists had made a shuddering mess of the new cowhand. Gabe had fired him on the spot, oblivious to the fascinated stares of passersby, and in language that had colored Maggie's face a bright red.

Gabe had started to move toward her, and with visible apprehension she'd backed away from him, her green eyes wide and frightened. Whatever he'd meant to say never got said. He'd glared at the girls and demanded to know what they were staring at. Then he'd ordered them back to the car and stalked off, lighting a cigarette as calmly as if nothing had happened. The girls had said later that he'd explained the man had gotten in trouble for mistreating an animal. But Maggie had always wondered if it hadn't been because he'd insulted her. It was one of those unfinished episodes that haunted her.

Maybe it had all happened a long time ago, she conceded. Still…Memories were one thing, but living under his roof was quite another. And she definitely preferred to keep Gabe at a safe distance. Like the distance from San Antonio to the Coleman ranch.

But saying no to Janet Coleman was like talking to a wall. Within minutes, Maggie found herself agreeing to the visit.

Chapter Two

If Maggie had thought Janet would just go back home and leave Maggie to follow, she was dead wrong. Janet helped her pack and even drove them to the exclusive boarding school to drop Becky off and tell the office where Maggie could be reached if she was needed.

Mrs. Haynes, who ran the school, was a good friend of the family. It was comforting to Maggie to know that the woman was aware of the situation with Dennis and knew not to let him take the child. She still felt uneasy about leaving Becky, but she needed time to think and plan. If she was to keep her daughter, she had to act quickly.

“I hate leaving you here,” Maggie told the child as she hugged her goodbye. “Becky, I promise you, as soon as school is out, we'll make some better arrangements, so that you can stay with me all the time.”

“You mustn't worry, Mama,” Becky said seriously, sounding for all the world like an adult. “I'll be just fine. And as soon as school is out, you come right back here and get me, all right?”

“All right, darling,” Maggie promised, smothering an amused smile. “I will. Be a good girl.”

Minutes later, Maggie and Janet were on their way to the massive ranch the Colemans owned, which was far to the north of San Antonio, up near Abilene. The nearest town was Junction, a modern little place with just enough stores to qualify for a post office. It even had an airport of sorts.

“I'm sorry I couldn't get Gabriel to fly me here,” Janet apologized as they sped up the long highway in the sleek silver Lincoln Mark IV that was the older woman's pride and joy. “But he was busy with roundup and couldn't be bothered,” she muttered darkly. “After all, I'm just his mother. Why should I come before the cattle? He couldn't even get a good price for me since I'm too old and tough!”

It was all Maggie could do to keep from laughing. Janet had a dry sense of humor and she was delightful as a companion. Yes, maybe this would turn out for the best after all. It was going to be a nice visit, and she'd be able to put Dennis and the horror of the past into perspective and plan her strategy to keep Becky out of her ex-husband's clutches. If only it weren't for Gabriel…

It was spring and already hot in this part of the world, and the ride was tiring despite the air conditioning and the car's luxurious interior. Janet had to stop frequently for gas and soft drinks and rest rooms. But eventually they passed through the edges of the beautiful hill country, nearing Abilene, and brush turned to lush, cultivated flatland.

“We have two airplanes, after all,” Janet continued her chatter as they drove the final few miles. “Not to mention a helicopter.” She glanced at Maggie. “You're worn out, aren't you, dear?” She sighed.

“No, not at all,” Maggie said gently, and even managed to laugh. It had been a long time since she'd felt like laughing, but there was something very relaxing about Janet's company. “We've seen some beautiful country, and I'm really kind of glad we did it this way. You're tired though, aren't you?” she probed gently.

“Me?” the older woman scoffed. “My dear, in my youth, I could break wild horses. I'm a Texan.”

So was Maggie, and the girl she'd been would have gloried in the challenge of a wild horse. But so much of the spirit had been drained out of her in the past few years. If it hadn't been for Becky, she wasn't sure how long she could have kept her sanity under that kind of pressure.

“I hope you're going to enjoy the ranch,” Janet was murmuring as she pulled off onto a graveled road with a huge sign near it that read, “Coleman Ranch, Purebred Santa Gertrudis Cattle.”

“I know I will,” Maggie promised. She smiled at the sight of the big red-coated cattle grazing behind rugged, rustic fences. “Santa Gertrudis is the only native American breed, isn't it?” she murmured knowledgeably. “Founded on the King Ranch and now famous all over the world. They're so beautiful…. Oh, what I wouldn't give for some of my own.”

Janet drew in a deep breath, her gaze wistful. “Oh, my dear, if only I'd brought you here sooner…” She shook her head as she turned back to the road and eased the car forward. “It's so ironic. Gabriel is obsessed with cattle. You'd have made the perfect daughter-in-law.”

“No matchmaking,” Maggie cautioned, feeling herself go taut with apprehension. “With all due respect to your son, the last thing in the world I want is a domineering man in my life again. Okay?”

Janet smiled gently. “Okay. And I wouldn't do that to you, truly. But you are so special, my dear.”

She smiled back. “You're pretty special yourself.” She glanced toward the big white clapboard house with its graceful long porches and green shutters. It had a faintly colonial look about it, but without the huge columns. There were wicker chairs all over, a big porch swing, and flowers blooming in wild profusion everywhere. It was spectacular.

“It's about the same size as your own, isn't it?” Janet laughed. “My father built it with no particular style in mind. It often draws comment for that.”

“It's lovely,” Maggie sighed. She glanced toward the long wire fences, frowning. “I expected white fences,” she murmured.

Her companion laughed. “Gabriel is tight with a dollar,” she teased. “There are hundreds of acres of land here, and fencing is expensive. Especially electric fences, which are all he uses these days. He cuts costs wherever he can. Actually,” she added, “it's a full-time job just keeping track of cattle and keeping rustlers out. We only keep purebreds here, and when a bull can bring as much as half a million dollars, you can understand why Gabriel is so careful about security. He has a man full-time to do nothing but maintain security here.”

“Good heavens,” Maggie exclaimed. “People still rustle cattle?”

“Yes, they do. They come in big trucks. It's been modernized along with cattle ranching, but rustling is still a problem.”

“I wouldn't have guessed,” Maggie said as Janet pulled up to the steps and stopped. She barely noticed Janet's sudden stiffening or the disturbed look in her eyes; she was too busy watching the man who was approaching the stopped car.

He was tall. Lithe and lean, he walked with an arrogance that immediately put Maggie's back up. He was dressed like a working cowboy, but he moved like no other man she'd ever seen. He was graceful, from the top of his wide-brimmed tan hat to the toes of his worn, warped boots. His dusty leather batwing chaps were flying with the sharp movements of long, powerfully muscled legs, and what she could see of his darkly tanned face under his hat wasn't at all welcoming.

He paused beside the car, and Janet rushed out with an exclamation of pleasure to hug him with the enthusiasm and warmth that seemed so much a part of her. But he drew back sharply.

“For God's sake, stop that!” he bit off, grimacing. He held his side and caught his breath with a hot curse. “I've been bitten by a rattlesnake. The arm's still swollen, and it'll be days before I can get back to work. I don't need it broken!”

Janet flushed, looking flustered and taken aback. “I'm sorry, dear…”

“I can't ride a horse, can't bounce around in the damned trucks, I can't even fly the plane!” He glared at Janet as if it were all her fault. “Landers is even having to drive me around. I've been sicker than an overfed dog.”

“I…I'm sorry. You do look pale,” Janet said uneasily. “It must be painful.”

“I'll live.” He looked past Janet to the younger woman, and his chin lifted, his eyes narrowing. He scowled thoughtfully as Maggie stepped from the car, and she saw his eyes under the shadowy brim of the hat.

She was tempted to turn around and run. It was that kind of look. There was nothing welcoming in his lean, sharp-featured countenance. He had a crook in the middle of his nose, as if somebody had broken it. His black eyebrows were as shaggy and thick as the hair on his head, and his protruding brow shadowed eyes as light as candles, as penetrating as only blue eyes could be. His high cheekbones ran down to a firm, hard-looking mouth over a stubborn chin. He wasn't a handsome man, although his face had character and his body was as sensuously powerful as that of a movie star. The fabric of her dreams—in the flesh. But it was no surprise to Maggie that he was thirty-eight and unmarried. It would take a strong woman, a fiery woman, for a man like that. She felt cold chills at the thought of what he might expect of a woman in intimacy.

The feeling must have been mutual, because the look he was giving her spoke volumes. She could imagine how citified she must seem to him, in her lacy white blouse and white slacks, with dainty strapped sandals. She should have worn jeans, she thought belatedly, as she'd planned to in the beginning. Why had she dressed up so? She needed this vacation so badly, and here she'd gone and antagonized him at first glance.

“Gabe, you remember Mary's daughter, Maggie Turner, don't you?” Janet asked.

Maggie stared up at him, watching the fleeting lift of his eyebrows. He looked at her with cold disinterest. “I remember her.”

“It's nice to…see you again,” she faltered.

He nodded, but he didn't return the greeting. He dismissed her without a second thought and turned back to his mother impatiently as a truck with the ranch logo purred to a stop nearby. “I won't be gone long, but I'm expecting an important call from Cheyenne. If it comes through while I'm gone, have the party call back at five.”

“Certainly, dear,” Janet agreed. “I'm sorry if I've…we've come at a bad time…”

“Don't you always, Mother?” he asked with a cold smile. “Isn't Europe more your style than dust and cattle?”

“I came to see you,” the older woman said with quiet pride.

“I'll be back directly.” He turned without another glance and walked to the truck, grimacing despite his iron control as he climbed inside the cab and managed to close the door, waving away the cowboy who offered to help him. They drove off in a cloud of dust.

Janet sighed half-angrily. “I'll never understand him,” she said under her breath. “I didn't raise him without manners. I'm sorry, Maggie.”

“There's no need to apologize,” Maggie said quietly. “I gather that he's in some pain.”

“And irritable at having to stay at home when there's work to be done. Roundup is a bad time for everyone. Besides that,” she said miserably, “he doesn't like it when I come here. I have to confess that I needed you as much as you needed the rest. I don't like having to cope by myself. But truly, you'll enjoy it. He won't be around much,” she added with a hopeful look. “Just until his arm will let him go back to work. Knowing my son,” she added bitterly, “it shouldn't take more than a couple of days. Nothing keeps him down for long. He'll convince the doctor that strapping it will accomplish miracles.”

“He isn't the most welcoming man,” Maggie murmured.

“He'll be gone before you know it. Now come on and let's get settled in,” Janet said firmly. “This is my home, too—even if I'm not allowed to visit it very often!”

Maggie didn't reply. She wasn't sure that she'd done the right thing in coming. Gabriel was stone-cold hateful, and time hadn't improved his old dislike of her. She knew instinctively that if his mother hadn't been around, he'd have packed her right back to San Antonio. It wasn't the brightest beginning.

She spent the next two hours reacquainting herself with the big house and getting to know the new cook and housekeeper, whose name was Jennie. She was small and dark and gay, and Maggie liked her immediately.

She settled in, changing her white outfit for jeans and a yellow blouse. She brushed her short hair toward her face and hoped that her appearance wouldn't antagonize the cattleman any further when she went down to have supper with the family.

Gabriel was already at the table, looking furious and glaring at her the minute she walked into the spacious, elegant dining room. In fact, his look was so accusatory that she froze in the doorway, flashing on a line from a dog-training manual about not showing fear and making no sudden moves. Perhaps it would work with the half-civilized cattleman whose mother was obviously kicking him under the table.

“Do join us, dear,” Janet said with a glare toward her taciturn son.

“I'm sorry if I've held you up,” Maggie said gently, seating herself on the other side of Janet for protection with a wary, green-eyed glance at Gabe that seemed to amuse him.

“Dinner is promptly at six,” he returned with a lifted eyebrow. “I don't like being held up, in case you've forgotten.” She started to speak, but he cut her off with a lifted hand, ignoring his mother's seething irritation to add mockingly, “I don't bite, Miss Turner,” his voice deep and faintly amused.

“Could I have that in writing, please?” she asked with a nervous laugh. She smiled at Janet. “The air smells so fresh and clean out here. No exhaust fumes!”

“That's right, city girl,” Gabe replied. He leaned back carefully, favoring his right side, with his coffee cup in his lean hand. He wasn't even neatly dressed or particularly cleaned up. He was still wearing his work clothes, except that his dusty shirt was open halfway down his tanned chest, where a wedge of thick black hair arrowed toward his wide leather belt. That disturbed Maggie, just as it had in her teens, and she looked down at her plate, fiddling with putting the napkin in her lap.

“I would have cleaned up,” he said unexpectedly, a bite in his slow drawl as he obviously mistook her expression for distaste, “but I'd just come in from the holding pens when I went to the doctor, and I'm a bit tired.”

Her eyes came up quickly, with an apology in them. “Mr. Coleman, this is your home,” she said gently. “I wouldn't be so rude as to criticize how you dress.”

He stared at her calculatingly for a long moment—so long that she dropped her gaze again to her plate. Finally, he reached for the platter of beef and helped himself, to his mother's obvious relief.

“How did you get bitten, darling?” Janet asked him.

“I reached for a rope without looking.”

Janet gnawed her lip. “It must be painful. You won't be able to work for a few days, I guess.”

He gave her a cold stare. “I'm managing. If I felt a little stronger, I could ride. It's just the swelling and the pain, that's all. I won't be stuck here for long, I hope.”

Janet started to make a comment, but she forced herself to remain silent. It did no good to argue with him.

He glanced from her to Maggie as he buttered a huge fluffy biscuit. “What are you doing these days?” he asked curiously.

“Me? I'm working at a bookstore,” Maggie told him. She glanced up and down again, hating the surge of heat to her face. He had the most incredible effect on her, even after the anguish of her marriage.

“Working, did you say?” His light eyes lifted and probed hers like a microscope. “Your people were wealthy.”

“Times change,” she said quietly. “I'm not wealthy now. I'm just a working girl.”

“Have some peas, dear.” Janet tried to interrupt.

He put the biscuit down and cocked his head, studying her with narrowed eyes. “It shows,” he said absently. “You don't look like the spunky little kid who used to play with my sisters. What's happened to you?”

Maggie felt herself going cold. He was watching her, like a cat watching a mouse. She felt vulnerable and a little afraid of that single-mindedness. Once, she would have taken exception to his blunt challenge. But there had been so many fights, so much struggle. Her spirit was carefully buried—had to be, for Becky's sake.

She laid down her fork and stared at him. “I've grown up,” she replied, her voice soft.

His level gaze sized her up. “You had money. And now you don't. Then what brings you here, Miss Turner? Are you looking for a vacation or a man to support you?”

“Gabriel!” Janet slammed her napkin down. “How dare you!”

Maggie clasped her hands tightly under the table and stared at him with a courage she didn't really feel. “Your mother offered me a visit, Mr. Coleman,” she said dully. “I needed to get away for a little while, that's all. You'll have to excuse me for being so dim, but I didn't realize that I needed your permission as well as Janet's. If you want me to leave…?” She started to rise.

“Oh, for God's sake, sit down,” he snapped. His eyes cut into hers. “The last thing I need is a Texas society girl out here at roundup, but if Mother wants you, you're welcome. Just keep to the house,” he warned softly, his eyes emphasizing the threat. “And out of my way.”

He tossed his own napkin down, ignoring his mother's furious glare.

“I won't get in your way,” Maggie said, her voice, her whole manner vulnerable.

Gabriel's pale eyes narrowed as he bent his dark head to light a cigarette, watching her the whole time. “Won't you? What a difference,” he added as he took a draw from the cigarette. “The girl I remember was like a young filly, all long legs and excitement and blushing fascination. How you've changed, Maggie Turner.”

The comment surprised her. She looked up, feeling hot all over as his eyes searched hers. “You haven't,” she blurted out. “You're just as blunt and rude and overbearing as you ever were.”

He actually grinned. “Just as mean-tempered, too, honey. So look out,” he added as he got to his feet. He groaned a little with the movement and murmured a curse under his breath.

“Can I get you anything?” Janet asked, frowning.

He spared her a cool glance. “Nothing, thank you,” he replied formally. He nodded at the women, the brief and unexpected humor gone as he turned and went out the door.

“I'm sorry,” Janet told Maggie. “It's roundup, you know. He gets so ill-tempered, and he doesn't really like women very much.”

“He doesn't like me very much, you mean,” Maggie said quietly, staring at the tablecloth. “He never did.” She smiled wistfully. “Do you know, I once had the most terrible crush on him. He never found out, thank goodness, and I outgrew it. But I used to think he was the whole world.”

“And now?” Janet queried gently.

Maggie bit her lower lip and laughed, the sound soft and nervous. “Now, I think I'm a little afraid of him. I'm not sure that coming here was a good idea.”

“Oh, yes, it was,” Janet said. “I'm certain that it will work out. You'll see. I've got it all planned.”

Maggie didn't ask what “it” was, but the man listening outside the door had a face that would have stopped traffic. He'd read an entirely different meaning into Janet's innocent remark, and he was livid with anger. So his mother was matchmaking again. This time she'd picked a woman he knew, although she couldn't know what he'd thought of Maggie Turner. His eyes narrowed. Well, this time his mother had gone too far. And if little Maggie thought she was going to lead him down the aisle, she had a surprise coming. A big one!

He went out the door, his eyes cold with calculation, his steps so soft that no one heard him leave.

Janet shook her head. “I was so sure that he wouldn't be around the house,” she said. “He's hurting, but he won't admit it. That's why he was so rude.”

“Is he like that with all women?” she probed gently.

Janet picked up a roll and buttered it carefully. “I'll tell you about it, one day,” she said quietly, her eyes sad. “For now, let's just say that he had a particularly bad experience, and it was my fault. I've been trying to make it up to him ever since. And failing miserably.”

“Can't you talk to him about it?” Maggie asked.

Janet only laughed. “Gabriel has a habit of walking off when he doesn't want to hear me. He won't listen. I tried, once, to explain what happened. He cut me dead and went to Oklahoma on a business trip. After that…well, I suppose I just lost my nerve. My son can be very intimidating.”

“I remember,” came the dry reply.

Janet smiled at her. “Yes. You understand, don't you? You know, I never even told him that you'd married. He had an odd way of ignoring me if I mentioned you, after that summer you spent some time here. You remember, when he had the fight in town with that cowboy…?”

Maggie actually blushed and couldn't hide it from Janet. “Oh, yes. How could I forget?”

“He wouldn't talk about you at all after that. He seemed preoccupied for a long time, and a little strange, in fact,” she mused. “He filled in our swimming pool and wouldn't let anyone ride Butterball…”

Something barely remembered, exciting, stirred deep inside Maggie. He'd given her Butterball to ride, and she could still see him towering over her, his lean hands working with the cinch. She'd adored him in those days, despite his evident antagonism toward her. Even that was inexplicable, because he got along well with most women. He was polite and courteous to everyone—except Maggie.

“He's still not pleased to have me around,” Maggie murmured.

“Well, it's my home, too,” Janet said doggedly. “And I love having you here. Do have some more beef. It's our own, you know.”

“Purebred Santa Gertrudis?” Maggie exclaimed in horror, staring blankly at the platter Janet was offering her.

“What?” Then Janet got the message and laughed. “No, no, dear. Gabriel raises some beef cattle as well. Purebred…oh, that's sinfully amusing. Gabriel would eat his horse before he'd eat one of the purebreds. Here, have a roll to go with it. Jennie bakes them fresh every day.”

Maggie took one, savoring it, and not for the first time she had misgivings about the wisdom of coming here. Gabriel seemed to be out for blood, and she wondered if the Coleman ranch wasn't going to become a combat zone.

Chapter Three

It was vaguely like living in a war zone, Maggie thought as the first few days went by. Gabriel was impatient and irritable because of his arm, and he seemed to hate the whole world. Nothing pleased him—least of all, it appeared, having Maggie in the house. He treated her with a cold formality that raised goose bumps on her arms. It was obvious that he was tolerating her for his mother's sake alone. And just in case she hadn't already guessed it on her own, he spelled it out for her at breakfast three days after she'd arrived.

He glanced up coldly when she sat down. It was just the two of them, because his mother was still upstairs. She and Maggie had been up late talking the night before, and Janet seemed to sleep poorly anyway.

“I'm sorry, am I late?” she asked, throwing out a white flag.

He smoked his cigarette quietly, his icy eyes level and cutting. “Do you care, one way or another?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “I realize you don't want me here…”

“That's an understatement.” He rolled the cigarette between his lean, dark fingers while he studied her. “What did she offer you to get you down here, Margaret?” he added suddenly, using her name for the first time since she'd been at the ranch.

Her eyes widened. “N-nothing,” she stammered. “I just needed some rest, that's all.”

“Rest from what?” he persisted. His pale eyes cut into hers. “You're thin. You always were, but not like this. You're pale, too, and you look unwell. What's going on, Margaret? What are you running from? And why run to me?”

Her face went white. She caught her breath. “As if I would ever run to you…!”

“Don't be insulting.” He lifted the cigarette to his chiseled lips, watching her. “Talk to me.”

She was closing up, visibly, her body taut with nerves. “I can't.”

“You won't,” he corrected. He smiled slowly, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. It was impatient and half angry. “I'm not blind. I know my mother, I know how her mind works. You're the sacrifice, I gather. Are you a willing one, I wonder?”

“I don't understand,” she said, bewildered.

“You will,” he promised, making a threat of the words. He got to his feet, more easily now than he had three days ago. He was improving rapidly; he even looked better.

“I came to visit with Janet—not to get in your way, Gabriel,” she tried one last time, hating her lack of spirit.

Gabriel seemed frozen in place. It was the first time she'd said his name since she arrived. He looked at her and felt a wave of heat hit him like a whirlwind in the chest. Odd, how it had always disturbed him to look at her, to be around her. She got under his skin. And now it was worse, now that she was vulnerable. It irritated him to see her like this and not know why. Was it an act? Was it part of the plan his mother had mentioned when she'd thought he was out of earshot? He was wary of the whole damned situation, and the way Maggie affected him after all these years was the last straw.

“In my way, or in my bed, Maggie?” he asked, deliberately provoking. “Because you wanted me when you were sixteen. I knew it, felt it when you looked at me. Do you still want me, honey?”

Her face paled, and she dropped her eyes to her faded jeans, staring dully at her slender hands. The old Maggie would have snapped back at him. But the old Maggie was dead, a casualty of her marriage to a cruel and brutal man. She felt sick all over.

“Don't,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Don't.”

“Look at me!” He stared down at her with his cold blue eyes until she obeyed him. Dimly, she noticed he was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved chambray shirt with worn, warped leather boots. In one lean, strong hand, a battered gray Stetson dangled. “You and Mother don't have a chance in hell of pulling it off,” he said quietly. “Give it up. I don't want to hurt you.”

And with that enigmatic statement, he turned and strode angrily out the door.

She didn't tell Janet about the confrontation. And afterward, she made it her business to be where he wasn't. He glared at her as if he hated her very presence, but she pretended not to notice. And around his mother, at least, he was courteous enough in his cold way.

She wondered if he'd ever loved anyone or been loved. He seemed so unapproachable; even his men kept their distance unless they had urgent business. He had little to say to them and even less to say to his mother. He seemed to dislike her, in fact, for all that he'd warned Maggie not to cause her any sleepless nights.

“He keeps everyone at bay, doesn't he?” Maggie asked one afternoon when she was strolling around the yard with Janet. The two women had just watched Gabriel walk away from a man trying to ask a question near the back porch.

Janet stared after him worriedly, her thin arms folded across her chest. “He always has,” she said. “I don't think he's ever forgiven me for remarrying so soon after his father's death. The fact that he hated my second husband made it worse. He was…badly treated,” she confessed, biting her lower lip as the memories came back. “Stepfathers are reluctant fathers at best. Ben liked Audrey and Robin enough, of course. They were just pretty little girls and no threat to him. But Gabe was a big boy, almost a teenager. He wound up fighting for his very life. Ben shipped him off to a boarding school, and I—” she lowered her eyes “—I was caught between the two of them. I loved them both. But I couldn't find the magic formula for making them live together. It was that way until Ben died. That was when Gabe was just out of the Marine Corps.” She shrugged. “He came back and started to pick up the pieces of his father's ranch—and there were few, because my second husband was much better at spending money than making it. Gabe was bitter about it. He still is.”

“That doesn't seem enough to make a man as cold as he is.” Maggie probed gently.

Janet stared toward the tall man who was busy saddling a horse out in the corral. “You might as well know it all,” she said quietly. “The year before Ben died, Gabriel found a young woman who seemed to worship him. He brought her here, to meet us, and she stayed for two weeks. During that time, Ben was very attentive and managed to convince her that he was in control of all the finances here and all the money.” Shamefaced, Janet closed her eyes. “Ben ate up the attention. He was dying, you see. He had cancer, and not long to live. Gabe didn't know. But Ben was so flattered by the girl's attention—he was just a man, after all. I couldn't even blame him. But Gabe lost her, and blamed Ben. And blamed me. Afterward, I tried to tell him, to explain, but he wouldn't listen. He never would. To this day, he doesn't know. You see, Ben actually died of a heart attack. I didn't even tell the girls about the cancer.”

“Oh, Janet, I'm sorry,” Maggie said, touching the stooped shoulder lightly. “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

“There, there, it was a long time ago,” the older woman said through a stiff smile. “Gabe, needless to say, never got over it. Nor did he understand why I didn't leave Ben. After Ben died, Gabe came back from the service and stayed here, but the distance between us has been formidable. I think sometimes that he hates me. I've tried so hard, Maggie,” she said softly. “I've tried so hard to show him that I care, that I was sorry, for so many things. I suppose playing Cupid was just another way of making restitution. But even that backfired.”

“People don't hold grudges forever,” Maggie said gently.

“Don't they?” Janet replied, and her eyes were on her son, who was just mounting his horse. She shook her head and laughed. “I wonder.”

“Have you told him about Becky?” Maggie asked suddenly. “Or why I'm really here?”

“Not yet,” Janet confessed. “I've been waiting for the right time.”

“He doesn't want me here,” Maggie said. “And perhaps I should go back to San Antonio.”

“No,” Janet said firmly, “this is my home, too. I have a right to invite people here. He won't stop me. Or you.”

“Janet, I'm so tired of fighting….”

“We'll keep out of his way,” Janet assured her. “He'll be back at work in no time, you'll see, and then we'll have the place all to ourselves.”

But she sounded no more certain than Maggie felt. And her apprehension intensified when Janet hesitantly asked Gabriel the next morning if he had a horse Maggie could ride.

“Please, I don't need to…” Maggie began quickly, noticing the dangerous look in Gabe's pale eyes.

“No, I don't have a spare horse,” Gabe replied with a cold glare at Maggie. “I'm trying to get my calves branded, tagged and inoculated, and my herd out to summer pasture. Meanwhile, I'm being driven crazy by new hands who have to be led around like kids, I'm trying to keep supplies on hand with my ranch foreman off on sick leave, I'm a week behind on paperwork that my secretary can't do alone…I don't have time to be hounded by tourists!”

“Gabriel, there's no need to be rude,” Janet chided.

He stood up. “She's your guest, not mine,” he told his mother. “If you want her entertained, you entertain her.”

And without another word, he left them sitting there, arrogantly lighting a cigarette as he went.

Maggie shivered as she stared after him half-angrily. “A person could freeze to death just sitting near him,” she muttered.

Janet shook her head and reached for her coffee. “I'm so sorry.”

“You aren't responsible for his actions, and at least now I understand a little better than I did,” Maggie told her with a smile. “It's all right. I'd like to stroll around a little, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind,” Janet returned. “Just do stay out of his way, darling,” she cautioned.

“You can count on that!” Maggie laughed.

She went out the back door, in fact, tugging on a yellow windbreaker over her beige blouse and jeans. It was still a little nippy, but she loved the coolness. She loved the outdoors, the land stretching lazily to the horizon, dotted with mesquite trees and prickly-pear cacti and wildflowers.

It was so different from her home in the middle of downtown San Antonio, so removed from urban traffic. Although the city was delightful and there was plenty to see and do, and colorful markets to visit, she was a country girl at heart. She loved the land with a passion she'd never given to anything else. Even now, with an enemy in residence, she could hardly contain her excitement at having so much land to explore, to savor.

She walked from the backyard down to the fence that stretched to the stables and stared over it at the few horses that were left. Most of them had gone out with the cowboys who were working the far-flung herds of cattle.

Her eyes were wistful as she stared at a huge black stallion. There wasn't a patch of white anywhere on him, and he looked majestic in the early-morning light. He tossed his mane and pranced around like a thoroughbred, as if he knew that he had an audience and was determined to give it its money's worth.

“Do you ride?”

The rough question startled her. She whirled, surprised to find Gabriel Coleman leaning against one of the large oak trees in the backyard, calmly smoking a cigarette while he stared at her.

She shifted a little. He looked bigger than ever in that old long-sleeved chambray shirt, and its color emphasized the lightness of his eyes under the wide brim of his hat. He was formidable in work clothes. So different from Dennis, who'd always seemed a bit prissy to Maggie.

“I…don't ride very well,” she confessed.

He nodded toward the stallion. “I call him Crow. He was a thoroughbred with a bright future. But he killed a man and was going to be put down. I bought him and I ride him, but no one else does. There isn't a more dangerous animal on the place, so don't get any crazy ideas.”

“I wouldn't dream of taking a horse without asking first,” she said levelly. “Perhaps you're used to more impetuous women. I'm careful. I don't rush in without thinking.”

His eyes narrowed at the insinuation, and he took a long draw from his cigarette. “Then why are you down here?” he asked coldly.

“Your mother invited me,” she said.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” she countered.

He smiled, and it wasn't friendly. He threw down the cigarette and moved toward her.

It was a deserted area. The house was hidden by a grove of oaks and pecan trees, and none of the men were around. Maggie, who'd had nightmares about physical intimacy since her marriage, began to back away until the cold bark of another oak tree halted her.

“Nervous?” he chided, and kept coming. “What of? I heard what Mother said the first night you were here. I know what you came for, Maggie. So why run away from it?”

She felt her body going rigid as he loomed over her, her eyes wide and green and frightened. “You don't understand…” she began.

“So you keep telling me,” he said shortly. He rested his hands on either side of her head, blocking off all the exits, and he smelled of wind and fir trees and leather as he came even closer, favoring his right side a little where the arm was swollen.

“What is this?” she breathed.

“You're another consolation prize,” he said with a mocking smile. “My mother thinks it's her fault that I'm such a lonely man. She brings me women by the gross. But I'm getting damned tired of being handed women on silver platters. When I marry, if I marry, I can choose my own bride. And I'll want something fresh and warm and sweet-smelling. A country girl—not a social butterfly who's been passed around like a plate of hors d'oeuvres.”

Her lips opened to retaliate, but he pressed his thumb over them in a movement that startled her into silence. He'd always seemed like a cold, indifferent sort of man, but there was experience in the way he played with her mouth, and her surprise widened her eyes. How incredible, after all these years, to be this way with him, to see him as a man instead of an enemy; to feel the impact of his masculinity in a different way, a sensual way. Yes, he was experienced. His eyes told her so, and she wondered how she could have thought him cold when just the brush of his finger against her warm mouth was sending her mad.

“Yes, you like that, don't you, Maggie?” he whispered, his voice deep and slow and faintly contemptuous. “You didn't realize how sensitive your mouth was, did you? It can be teased and provoked into begging for a man's lips,” he said softly, tracing the upper lip with the very edge of his thumb so that he could feel the moist underside and watch its sudden helpless trembling. “Like that,” he murmured, increasing the pressure, seeing her face flush, her lips part involuntarily. Her body tautened, and he smiled because he knew why.

“No,” she said on a sobbing breath, and even as she said it, she realized that he wasn't paying the least attention. He was powerfully made; she could feel the strength of him threatening her, the warmth that radiated from him with a leathery scent not at all unpleasant. Years ago, she'd dreamed of being touched, kissed, by him. She'd wanted him, and she'd known he was aware of it. But she'd also known, as he had, that such a thing was forbidden between them—because of her age. Her age had protected her…then. And she'd thought he was too cold to be tempted. Fool!

“Did you ever wonder?” he asked unexpectedly, tilting her chin as he bent. “Did you ever wonder how my mouth would feel moving on yours?”

Tears stung her eyes. It was fascinating that she could feel like this with him, that she could be hungry, physically, after what Dennis had done to her. She felt her own fingernails gripping the hard muscles of his upper arms, tugging gently. “Gabe,” she whispered, giving in to the raging attraction.

“What did my mother offer you, Maggie?” he breathed against her mouth.

“Offer…me?” she whispered brokenly.

He moved closer, his legs suddenly trapping hers, his body demanding as his mouth hovered warmly over her lips. “She brought you down here for me. She's given up bringing me career girls, so now she's dredging up old memories. She wants me to marry you.”

“Marry…you?” It was barely penetrating her hazy mind.

“Don't pretend,” he said. His eyes were cold, not loverlike, as they met hers. “I heard you both plotting. Well, I'm not in the market for a wife, little Maggie,” he said curtly. “But if you want to play around, I'm more than willing. You always did burn me up….”

Even as the last word faded in the air, his mouth came down on hers. But the tenderness she'd expected wasn't there. He was rough, as if the feel and taste of her had suddenly taken away his control. He made a sound, deep in his throat, and groaned as he pulled her too close and hurt his swollen arm. But he didn't let go. If anything, he was more ardent.

She felt his rough heartbeat and felt his strength with mute terror. “No!” she burst out. “Not…like this!” She tried to twist away from him.

He caught her hips with his, pressing them back against the rough bark of the tree. “What's the matter?” he taunted, lifting his mouth long enough to look down at her. “Does it take the promise of a wedding ring to get you in the mood?” His mocking voice sounded odd. Deep and slow and faintly strained.

Tears welled up behind her closed eyelids. Men weren't so different after all, she thought miserably. Sex was the only thing they wanted. Just sex. It was Dennis all over again, showing her how much stronger he was, forcing her to yield, taking what he wanted without the least thought of her comfort. She began to cry.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, his voice even and cold.

Her lips trembled. “I don't want…that,” she whispered brokenly. “I don't want anyone. I just want…to be left alone.”

He scowled. It seemed to get through to him finally that she was suffering him. Just that. Just suffering what he was doing to her. He could have sworn there was desire in her, at the beginning. But now she only looked afraid. She was as stiff as a rail, unyielding, cold.

With an economy of motion, he released her. She folded her arms across her breasts, trembling as she looked at him.

“Why the pretense?” he asked calculatingly. “Didn't my mother tell you why she invited you here?”

She swallowed, clutching herself tighter against a sudden burst of wind. “Listen,” she began, her voice shaking a little with reaction. “The only reason I came here was for some peace of mind. I have no inclination whatsoever to be your…your wife or your mistress or even your friend. It would suit me very well if I never saw you again!”

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