Texas Standoff. Ruth Smith Alana

from the tub and briskly toweling off.

      After shaving and making use of the cellophanewrapped toothbrush, he slipped on the striped robe and made a leisurely inspection of his quarters, ending the tour with a hand-press test of the bed’s mattress. It was then that he spied the tray on the night table containing a sandwich piled high with slices of chicken, a side dish of fresh melon and a glass of iced tea. There was also a decanter of imported brandy and a snifter, both etched with the distinctive logo he’d seen at the main gates. The food and drink were compliments of Andele, he was sure.

      Colin was both hungry and grateful. Not a crumb was left by the time he stretched out his six-foot frame on the bed and drained the last drop of brandy from the snifter. Full and mellow, he pulled down the covers, switched off the light and slipped his naked length between the sheets. He thought no more about his ex-wife or the ranch woman. He merely listened to the sound of the rain beating against the windows and drifted off to sleep.

      

      HE WAS JOLTED awake a few hours later by a different sound. It took him a moment to place himself in the unfamiliar surroundings. There were noises he didn’t recognize-an eerie howling off in the distance and something or other banging in the wind outside his window.

      He sat up on the edge of the bed and raked a hand through his rumpled hair. His fingers moved over the coverlet, hunting for the sensation of terry cloth. After groping around a bit, he struck pay dirt, stood and rerobed himself. Hands stretched out in front of him, he worked his way to the door, let himself out into the upstairs hall, then followed the balcony’s handrail until he reached the staircase. A faint light from below made his descent of the winding steps less tricky.

      The downstairs was quiet, not a soul about, and no howling or banging noises to be heard. He followed the source of the light until he entered a den area off the main foyer. Like everything else in the house, the room was overly large. The furnishings, though refined, were a curious blend of Victorian and American West, very personalized and oddly cozy. He supposed it was a custom of the household to leave a lamp burning at night. He walked about, noting the many lush plants in clay pots stretching toward the high-beamed ceiling. The tall windows were festooned with Navajo-print swags and a grandfather clock towered in the corner. Priceless Western bronzes by Dahlberg, Remington and Lago mixed with rare antiques and pottery inlaid with turquoise and silver. On the ivory walls, expensive artwork mingled with leather gunbelts, rustic rifles and iron horseshoes. A plush Persian rug the same ivory color as the walls was contrasted against the hardwood floor. Comfy, overstuffed couches, chairs and giant ottomans were arranged in such a way as to emphasize the focal point of the room-a fireplace grander than any Colin had ever seen, made of flagstone and running nearly the entire length of one wall. His eyes were drawn to the enormous painting suspended above the pine mantel. It was a portrait of a flaxen-haired woman in a strapless ivory evening gown, her throat and neck adorned in a silver, Aztec-like collar encrusted with turquoise and bloodstone gems. Even on canvas, the woman was a knockout.

      He moved closer for a better look. It was then that he noticed the gold plate at the bottom of the portrait engraved with the words Lady Pamela Walford-Winston. Both the portrait and name intrigued him.

      “Restless, huh?”

      Startled by the sound of a human voice, he turned about to discover Easy Winston standing in the shadows. She, too, was in a robe, her dark hair loose and flowing around her shoulders.

      “Yeah, a little,” he replied, hoping he sounded casual.

      The grandfather clock bonged once.

      “Me, too,” she said.

      “Nice. room,” he complimented.

      “It’s my favorite.” She made no move to sit down.

      He was uncomfortable in her presence. He wondered if she made it a practice to wander around the house while her husband slept. Was it chronic insomnia that caused her to walk the floors at night, or the fact that her husband was so much older and preferred his rest over sex? “I was admiring the portrait,” he said, stating the obvious. “I take it that it’s of the former Mrs. Winston.” Colin was fishing for an answer to the question plaguing him. He wished he could make eye contact with her, but the dim lighting thwarted his effort.

      “Yes,” she supplied, her voice not betraying so much as a hint of jealousy.

      In a word, his suspicion was confirmed. He looked away, amazed by the stab of disappointment he felt. “She’s very pretty, but then so are you. Your husband has good taste in women.” What an asinine thing to say. For God’s sake! He made his living by his wits and words, always knowing the perfect thing to say at a precise moment, and here he was, sticking his foot in his mouth in the middle of the night.

      “My father fancied pretty ladies, Mr. Majors. Lucky for us he was a better judge of breeding stock than he was of women.” She moved out of the shadows into the light. Finally he got the chance to gaze directly into her eyes. They were the same turquoise shade as the gems in the portrait-a vibrant blue-green fringed by velvety black lashes. “My mother was his only wife, but he had plenty of lady friends in his day,” she went on to say.

      He received a jolt, learning that the man under discussion was her father, not her husband, while daring the electricity behind her steady stare.

      “I assumed. I mean, I thought you were the lady of the house.”

      “Well, you’re partly right, Mr. Majors.” That husky laugh again. “I pretty much run everything around here, but the main house is more Andele’s territory than mine.”

      Though her comeback was breezy, her mind had become weighted by a sudden and striking observation. Mr. Majors certainly cleaned up good. As a matter of fact, it hit her that he was downright croton, a word not in his vocabulary, she was sure, but one that carried a double meaning in her neck of the woods. Depending on how one said it, it could mean either pure poison or powerfully fine. In his case, it was the latter. He was tall, which she liked in a man. She could tell even without touching that he was built rock hard. Tanned skin, hair the color of caramel, rich, dark chocolate eyes-all nicely blended and looking good enough to eat.

      He wasn’t handsome in the truest sense of the word. “Interesting” would be more like it. He had the sort of face a woman could study forever, never tire of and never thoroughly know. There was mystery and intelligence behind those dark eyes, and definite laugh lines at the corners. His nose was large and straight but not overbearing. Feature by feature, she supposed it was his mouth that intrigued her most. He had a great smilenot flashy or smirky or practiced, just sincere. When he smiled, that is, which he wasn’t doing at the moment. She found herself feeling uneasy, but not in an unpleasant way. What she was experiencing was purely physical, strangely intense, and bothersome on more than one level.

      They became conscious of the roaring silence filling the gap in conversation. Colin cleared his throat as she stepped around him and walked to a window at the far end of the room. Her back was to him as she peered into the night. “It’s slacked up some,” she reported. “That’s a good sign.” She knew that, in typical Texas fashion, the high water would recede just as suddenly as it had swelled the creeks and swallowed up the roads. “The water ought to run off enough by midmorning to allow ya to leave. It seems you’ll only be trapped on Cheyenne Moon for the night, Mr. Majors.”

      If he wasn’t careful, he knew he’d be trapped by a pair of blue green eyes and for much longer than a day. “I’ve been stuck in far less hospitable surroundings,” he said, referring to sticky cases and hostile courtroom environments.

      She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by the remark except that it was intended as a compliment. Turning to face him, she offered him a smile, along with an invitation. “Well, since you’re stuck with nothing special to do, would you care to join me in the kitchen for a nightcap of Hot Schnapps? I guarantee it’ll ward off any lingering chill and make ya sleep like a baby.”

      “On one condition.” He returned her smile.

      “And what might that be?”

      “That