Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth: Hawk's Way: Garth / Hawk's Way: Faron. Joan Johnston

      “Where’s Rue?”

      “She’s having one of her spells.”

      That was Madelyn’s way of saying Rue was drunk. Once a year, on the anniversary of her son’s death in Vietnam, Rue got drunk. How long the “episode” lasted depended on how good a job Belinda did of finding Rue’s stash of bottles and disposing of it. “I thought we’d gotten rid of all the bottles.”

      “She must have had another tucked away somewhere.”

      Belinda came up behind Madelyn and put a hand around her shoulder. “You should be resting.”

      “There’ll be time enough for that when I’m laid in my grave.”

      “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that!” Before Wayne’s death, Belinda hadn’t been quite so aware of Madelyn’s mortality. Now she worried about the older woman’s health. Madelyn’s heart wasn’t in much better shape than Wayne’s had been.

      Madelyn turned and patted Belinda on the arm. “I’m sorry, dear. Why don’t you sit down and tell me how the day went with my grandson?”

      That brought a wry smile to Belinda’s face. “I’ll make a deal. You sit down, and I’ll tell you how the day went.”

      Madelyn handed over the wooden spoon and took a seat on a bar stool next to the woodblock island in the center of the kitchen. “I’m sitting. Talk.”

      Belinda turned away to stir the chili, which gave her a chance to organize her thoughts. There was no hope for her feelings, which were still in a state of chaos. “He’s a hard worker,” Belinda conceded.

      “Then you two should have gotten along well,” Madelyn said.

      Belinda shot Madelyn a look over her shoulder. She was a shrewd old woman. Belinda wondered how much Madelyn knew—or suspected—about the tension between her daughter-in-law and her grandson. “We didn’t argue much, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Only at the very beginning and the very end of the day. “Faron has his own way of doing things. I just went along with him.”

      “Go along and get along. That didn’t work very well with Wayne, my dear.”

      “Faron is nothing like Wayne!” Belinda astonished herself with her outburst. She flushed and tried to backtrack by saying, “I mean, they look nothing alike.”

      “And they don’t act alike, either. Is that what you wanted to say?”

      “I don’t intend to criticize my late husband to his mother,” Belinda said.

      Madelyn sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m well aware of my son’s faults. I hope you won’t let what happened between you and Wayne keep you from finding another young man to love.”

      Belinda dropped the spoon in the chili and turned to face Madelyn. “I hope you’re not thinking about matchmaking, Madelyn. Not matching me with Faron, anyway. For heaven’s sake, he’s Wayne’s son!”

      “And quite a good-looking young man, if I do say so myself.”

      “Please, Madelyn. Don’t interfere. Things are difficult enough as it is.”

      “Difficult? How so?”

      Belinda grimaced. She should have known Madelyn wouldn’t be satisfied without specifics. But she wasn’t going to get them. “We just don’t get along.”

      “It didn’t look that way to me last night.”

      The old woman saw too much. Belinda took a deep breath and let it out. “Suffice it to say that I don’t want to get involved with anyone right now.”

      Madelyn was wise enough to know when to let well enough alone. She had said her piece. Not that she wouldn’t consider a little manipulating behind the scenes. She would have a talk with her grandson and see which way the wind was blowing.

      When the table was set and the corn muffins were just about ready to come out of the oven, Belinda stepped out onto the back porch and circled the triangle hanging from the eave several times with an iron rod. The metallic clang was a sound that cowboys recognized all over the West as a call to supper.

      Sure enough, Faron’s head and shoulders appeared at the barn door, followed quickly by the rest of him. Belinda knew she should turn around and go back inside, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

      His stride was long and his body moved with an easy grace. His face was hidden by the hat he had pulled down low on his brow. His shirtsleeves were rolled up onto his forearms and she could see the muscles move as he swung his arms in rhythm with his legs. He was almost to the porch by the time she realized he was aware that she had been staring at him.

      He stopped with his boot on the first step and tipped his hat back so she could see his face. He was grinning.

      “See anything you like?”

      “Oh!” She whirled and headed for the door, but she didn’t get two steps before he caught her arm and pulled her back around to face him.

      “I wasn’t complaining. In fact, I’m flattered. I can’t keep my eyes off you, either.”

      “Faron—”

      He laid two fingers across her mouth to silence her. His voice was gruff when he spoke again. “You’d better be careful how you look at me with those violet eyes of yours, Princess. I’ve got myself on a short tether. Don’t you go untying any knots.”

      His fingers slid across her mouth to her cheek, and then tunneled up into her hair. Belinda found herself caught by Faron’s green-eyed gaze. It was a powerful force, the desire in a man’s eyes. It made a woman want to give herself up to him. Belinda felt her knees growing weak—nature’s method of getting a woman down so a man could couple with her more easily. She was having trouble catching her breath, and her mouth dropped open slightly for more air.

      Faron saw it differently. He perceived her open mouth as an irresistible invitation. Faron had always liked parties, and he never turned one down. He didn’t now.

      His head lowered slowly, and his lips parted slightly to match hers. He paused just before their mouths made contact and took a breath. Belinda felt as though he were stealing the breath right out of her. A soft moan sounded deep in her throat.

      His lips were pliant against hers. And urgent. She felt his need as his tongue came searching hungrily for sustenance only she could provide. Her hands seemed to have a will of their own. They latched on to his shirt at the waist, then slid up behind his back and threaded into the curls at his nape.

      She could feel the dampness where his hair was soaked with sweat. He smelled of hardworking man, a pungent odor, but one that made her think of his muscles bunching beneath cloth as he hefted a bale of hay. His body was hard where he had it pressed against her hips, and his mouth was hot and demanding on hers.

      Belinda didn’t want to feel so much. Didn’t want to need so much. She felt the trap closing on her and at the last minute realized that she must escape. She yanked hard on Faron’s hair, and when he howled in pain she let go and backed away as quickly as she could.

      “No,” she said. “We’re not going to do this.”

      His eyes were feral, his body taut with need. He could still take her if he wanted to. Her aroused, aching body cried out for fulfillment. She saw him hesitate, torn between taking what he wanted or letting her go.

      He whirled abruptly and headed for the sink on the back porch. He turned on the cold water full blast, yanked off his hat and threw it down, then stuck his head under the spigot. She stared as he cooled the back of his neck with the icy water. Then he stood and slung his wet hair back. His hands forked through the tangled black curls, setting them in some kind of order. Then he picked up his hat and settled it back on his head.

      Water still dripped from his nose and chin and clumped on his eyelashes. But no signs of passion remained when he looked at