The Cowboy and the Lady. Diana Palmer

and she felt the pain of them right through her slender body. Her eyes wide open, staring at the strange patterns the moonlight made on the ceiling of her room, she drifted back to that Friday seven years ago when she’d gone running along the fence that separated her father’s pasture from the Whitehalls’ property, laughing as she jumped on the lower rung of the fence and watched Jace slow his big black stallion and canter over to her.

      “Looking for Duncan?” he’d asked curtly, his eyes angry in that cold, hard face that never seemed to soften.

      “No, for you,” she’d corrected, glancing at him shyly. “I’m having a party tomorrow night. I’ll be sixteen, you know.”

      He’d stared at her with a strangeness about him that still puzzled her years later, his eyes giving nothing away as they glittered over her slender body, her flushed, exuberant face. She’d never felt more alive than she did that day, and Jace couldn’t know that it had taken her the better part of the morning to get up enough nerve to seek him out. Duncan was easy to talk to. Jace was something else. He fascinated her, even as he frightened her. Already a man even then, he had a blatant sensuousness that made her developing emotions run riot.

      “Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he’d asked coldly.

      The vibrant laughter left her face, draining away, and some of her nerve had gone with it. “I, uh…I wanted to invite you to my party,” she choked.

      He studied her narrowly over the cigarette he put between his chiseled lips and lit. “And what did your mother think about that idea?”

      “She said it was fine with her,” she returned rebelliously, omitting how hard she’d had to fight Bea to make the invitation to the Whitehall brothers.

      “Like hell,” Jace had replied knowingly.

      She’d tossed her silver-blond hair, risking her pride. “Will you come, Jason?” she’d asked quietly.

      “Just me? Aren’t you inviting Duncan as well?”

      “Both of you, of course, but Duncan said you wouldn’t come unless I asked you,” she replied truthfully.

      He’d drawn a deep, hard breath, blowing out a cloud of smoke with it. His eyes had been thoughtful on her young, hopeful face.

      “Will you, Jace?” she’d persisted meekly.

      “Maybe,” was as far as he’d commit himself. He’d wheeled the horse without another word, leaving her to stare after him in a hopeless, disappointed daze.

      The amazing thing was that Jace had come to the party with Duncan, dressed in immaculately stylish dark evening clothes. He looked like a fashion plate, and, to Amanda’s sorrow, he was neatly surrounded by admiring teenage girls before he was through the door. Most of her girlfriends were absolutely beautiful young debutantes, very sophisticated and worldly. Not at all like young Amanda, who was painfully shy and unworldly, standing quietly in the corner with her blond hair piled on top of her head. Her exposed throat looked vulnerable, her pink lips soft, and her brown eyes stared wistfully at Jace despite the fact that Duncan spent the evening dancing attendance on her. She’d looked down at her green-embroidered white organdy dress in disgust, hating it. The demure neckline, puffed sleeves and full, flowing skirt hadn’t been exciting enough to catch and hold Jace’s eye. Of course, she’d told herself, Jace was twenty-five to her sixteen, and probably wouldn’t have been caught dead looking at a girl her age. But her heart had ached to have him notice her. She’d danced woodenly with Duncan and the other boys, her eyes following Jace everywhere. She’d longed to dance just one dance with him.

      It had been the last dance, a slow tune about lost love that Amanda had thought quite appropriate at the time. Jace hadn’t asked her to dance. He’d held out his hand, and she’d put hers into it, feeling it swallow her fingers warmly. Even the way he danced had been exciting. He’d held her young body against his by keeping both hands at her waist, leaving her hands to rest on his chest while they moved lazily to the music. She could still smell the expensive oriental cologne he’d been wearing, feel the warmth of his tall, athletic body against the length of hers as they moved, sense the hard, powerful muscles of his thighs pressed close to her even through the layers of material that made up her skirt. Her heart had gone wild in her chest at the proximity. New, frightening emotions had drained her, made her weak in his supporting arms. She’d looked up at him with all her untried longings plain in her eyes, and he’d stopped dancing abruptly and, catching her hand, had led her out onto the dark patio overlooking the night lights of Victoria.

      “Is this what you want, honey?” he’d asked, crushing her against him with a curious anger in his voice. “To see how I rate as a lover?”

      “Jace, I didn’t—” she began to protest.

      But even as she opened her mouth to speak, his lips had crushed down on it, rough and uncompromising, deliberately cruel. His arms had riveted her to the length of him, bruising her softness in a silence that had combined the distant strains of music with the night sounds of crickets and frogs, and the harsh sigh of Jace’s breath with the rustle of clothing as he caught her ever closer. His teeth had nipped her lip painfully, making her moan with fright, as he subjected her to her first kiss and taught her the dangers of flirting with an experienced man. With a wrenching fear, she’d felt his big, warm hand sliding up from her waist to the soft, high curve of her breast, breaking all the rules she’d been taught as he touched and savored the rounded softness of her body.

      “It’s like touching silk,” he’d murmured against her mouth, drawing back slightly to stare down at her. “Look at me,” he’d said gruffly. “Let me see your face.”

      She’d raised frightened eyes to his, pushing at his hand in a flurry of outrage and embarrassment. “Don’t,” she’d whispered.

      “Why not?” His eyes had glittered, going down to the darkness of his fingers against the white organdy of her bodice. “Isn’t this why you asked me here tonight, Amanda? To see if a ranch hand makes love like a gentleman?”

      She’d torn out of his arms, tears of humiliation glistening in her eyes.

      “Don’t you like the truth?” he’d asked, and he laughed at her while he lit a cigarette with steady fingers. “Sorry to disappoint you, little girl, but I’ve gone past ranch hand now. I’m the boss. I’ve not only paid off Casa Verde, I’m going to make a legend of it. I’m going to have the biggest damned spread in Texas before I’m through. And then, if I’m still tempted, I might give you another try.” His eyes had hurt as they studied her like a side of beef. “You’ll have to round out a bit more, though. You’re too thin.”

      She hadn’t been able to find the right words, and Duncan had appeared to rescue her before she had to. She’d never invited Jace to another party, though, and she’d gone to great lengths to stay out of his way. That hadn’t bothered him a bit. She often suspected that he really did hate her.

      

      * * *

      That night, Amanda slept fitfully, her dreams disturbed by scenes she couldn’t remember when she woke up early the next morning. She dragged herself out of bed and pulled on the worn blue terry-cloth robe at the foot of her bed, her long blond hair streaming down her back and over her shoulders in a beautiful silver-blond tangle that only made her look prettier. She huddled in the robe in the chill morning air that blew the curtains back from the window. She’d opened it last night so that she could drink in the fresh clean country air.

      A knock at the door brought her to her feet again from her perch on the vanity bench, and she yawned as she padded barefoot to the door. Her eyes fell sadly to the old robe, remembering satin ones she used to own that had dainty little fur scuffs to match. Her shoulders shrugged. That life was over. It was just a dream, washed away by the riptide of reality.

      She opened the door, expecting Maria, and found Duncan grinning down at her, brown-eyed and boyish.

      “Good morning, ma’am,” he said merrily.

      “Duncan!” she cried,