No Strings Attached. Susan Andersen

seem to do anything about it.

      She put one hand to her forehead, as though it might help. It didn’t. She could only stand there and stare into the darkness, wishing away the shadows that now offered Derek their protection instead of her.

      “The Andrews brothers are quite smitten with you. Some of your other neighbors didn’t seem quite so enamored.”

      He knew everything. At least everything the people in Twigg knew—or thought they knew. And that, in all reality, amounted to nothing. Less than nothing. If they thought her responsible for her father’s death and her own fall from grace, so be it. Pride—and perhaps a twinge of guilt—would not allow her to dignify such accusations.

      She supposed she had anticipated this moment from the day Derek arrived. It should have come as a distinct relief that the wait was over. It didn’t, and she could only stand there dumbly.

      “Tell me, Amber,” he asked in a lazy voice she didn’t believe for a minute, “were you Richard’s mistress?”

      Chapter Four

      “So, that’s how they remember me in Twigg.” Her voice held no discernable emotion.

      Derek wished suddenly that he could see her face, her eyes. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to broach the subject tonight. He’d planned to wait until tomorrow, when he’d had a chance to think about his questions and how he would phrase them. When his gut had a chance to settle down and not make him all but sick at the thought of Amber with his father.

      Derek swallowed heavily. If only she hadn’t spoken so fervently, her soft, feminine voice defending Richard with such passion. Hearing it, he found his better judgment vanishing like the once-glorious Cause that so many had defended with such ardent belief. And, much as the Confederacy had been left defenseless after Appomattox, Derek’s wayward plans had abandoned him to a fierce hunger that all but consumed him.

      Hunger? He would have liked to laugh at the word, but he couldn’t. Not when it so weakly described what he felt: a sudden, thrusting, wholly shocking and entirely unwelcome, red-hot desire. For Amber Laughton, a soiled dove. A seductress. His father’s mistress.

      Ah, Christ.

      “You expected something different?” he snapped, his voice heavy with equal parts doubt and animosity. Damn his body for betraying him. And damn his mind for reminding him of all the reasons. He shoved a hand under the hair at his nape and rubbed the back of his neck, where the tension of the day always seemed to settle. “I don’t imagine they run that many people out of town.”

      “Run…out of town? I—is that what they’re saying?”

      “It’s what Frank Edwards and Eliza Bates said.”

      “And you believed them,” she said softly, shadows shifting as she straightened.

      “Why wouldn’t I?”

      “You’re right, of course. Why wouldn’t you? I’m sure Frank Edwards has been the epitome of honesty and truth with you. And Eliza Bates is known as the soul of discretion.”

      Her observation stung; Edwards had misled him, and Amber knew it. The man had lied—more than once—and about important things, such as Richard’s death and the condition of the ranch. He could have exaggerated the situation with Amber, as well. But why would he?

      Then again, why not? Edwards had no reason to do anything that served any purpose but his own, and who knew what the hell that might be? His intentions needn’t be any clearer than anyone else’s around this godforsaken place.

      And what about Eliza Bates? She had made a point of approaching him with her hateful gossip. He couldn’t deny that he cared little for her manner or her general outlook. Still, the uncertainties rankled.

      “You, on the other hand, have been so very forthcoming in all of our conversations,” he pointed out, making no effort to disguise his sarcasm.

      A heartbeat of silence passed. “You’re right. Again. I keep expecting you to react as Richard would have…and I continue to be disappointed.”

      “I never pretended to be like my—uncle.” He used the title grudgingly. It galled him to call Richard or Jordan by anything but their names; neither deserved more. “You and others here insist on a physical resemblance between us, but that doesn’t necessarily lead to other similarities.”

      “My mistake, I assure you. I apologize if it offends you.”

      Derek shrugged. “Offense isn’t the word I’d use. I’d have to care to be offended.”

      “You don’t care? You have no regrets that Richard died a stranger to you?”

      “Regrets?” he asked shortly. She couldn’t begin to imagine. There were days when he thought of little besides the many things he had to regret in this life, but Derek wasn’t about to explain. Not to her, and not now. “It’s difficult to regret what you never knew.”

      “I would think that alone would be reason enough. But then, I don’t really know you, do I?”

      “No more than I know you,” he agreed.

      “I don’t see, then, what else we have to discuss, so I will say good-night.” She reached the front door before he sensed that she’d even begun to move.

      Derek reached out and caught her arm just as she entered the house. The fabric of her sleeve was soft to the touch, from wear and many washings, he’d guess, considering the limited wardrobe he’d seen her wear. She had a brown dress and a gray one, both plain cotton. Which had she worn today?

      What did it matter? It didn’t, and yet his body felt singularly alive, touching her like this, and he wanted to know. He tightened his fingers around her upper arm, as though the color would imprint itself on his skin, or perhaps to chase away his other, lustful thoughts. It didn’t do either.

      She went abruptly still, but she stood her ground, silent and stiff. He couldn’t even hear the sound of her breathing.

      “You never answered my question,” he said softly. He loosened his grip, enough to save her from bruising. Even so, the muscles in her arm tensed, as if she were preparing for further confrontation.

      “No, I didn’t. And I don’t intend to.”

      “No?” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper and allowed disbelief to color his tone. “And why not?”

      Amber turned, forcing him to step closer or release his grip. He didn’t let go. “Would you believe me?”

      “I…”

      “You see? You can’t say for sure, can you? Or if you can, it would be to say no, you wouldn’t believe any defense I could give you.” She tried to move away. “So why put either of us through that?”

      He tightened his hold just enough to keep her still. “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

      “Do you really think that?” She gave a delicate snort. “Well, let me tell you what I am sure of. I’m sure of all the times I tried to explain myself to people like Frank Edwards and Eliza Bates. If they didn’t believe in me, why ever do you think I would expect you to? Did Frank Edwards tell you he propositioned me?”

      Derek’s stomach churned fretfully, but he swallowed and ignored it. “He didn’t mention it.”

      “No, I don’t suppose he would. Well, he asked me to become his mistress both before and after I moved to the ranch. And he’s never forgiven me for turning him down.”

      “I see.” Derek drew in a deep breath, and along with it the sweet scent of vanilla. It seemed suddenly familiar, and he realized he had begun to associate it with Amber.

      “Do you really? Do you understand, then, why I’ve stopped answering questions such as yours?”

      “Are