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

break a man in pieces.

      When Faron came down the ladder she stayed out of his way. “All finished?”

      “That’s all I can do right now,” he said. “There’s a part missing. I’ll have to get a replacement.”

      “Will it cost much?”

      “Always thinking about money, Princess?”

      “Don’t call me that! Not like that!”

      “Why not? That’s what you are. A pampered, golden Princess. Living off an older man’s money—”

      “Stop! Stop!” Belinda put her hands to her ears. “How can you be so cruel?”

      “Cruel? Princess, I don’t hold a candle to you!”

      Faron stalked back to the truck. He was furious with himself for losing his temper, for taking out his sexual frustration in such a—yes, cruel—way. He hadn’t realized he was capable of that sort of behavior with a woman. Before Belinda…Hell, that was a lifetime ago. Before Belinda he had been Faron Whitelaw, happily oblivious to the fact he was Wayne Prescott’s son. Before Belinda he had known who he was. Now, everything was so damn confused!

      “Get in the truck,” he said.

      “I’d rather walk back to The Castle than get in that truck with you,” Belinda snapped back.

      “Listen, Princess. Either you get in that truck under your own steam, or I’m going to pick you up and put you there.”

      Given that choice, Belinda stomped over to the pickup and got in. He stepped in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. The wheels sent dust flying as they headed down the road.

      There was a long silence while both of them fumed. At last Belinda said, “I don’t think this is going to work. I think maybe I’ll just let the bank take back the ranch. I’ll go to work somewhere in town to support myself and Madelyn.”

      “Doing what?” Faron demanded.

      Belinda shrugged. “I used to be a short order cook. I could—”

      Faron snorted. “Princesses don’t flip hamburgers. Besides, you may be willing to give up your half of this place, but I’m not about to give up my half.”

      “Now who’s thinking about money?” Belinda goaded.

      “It’s not the money,” Faron gritted out. He kept his hands on the wheel and forced himself not to put his foot down on the accelerator. “Oh, hell. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Just get the idea of giving this place away out of your head. I’m here and I’m staying until King’s Castle is sold. Now, if you’re through pouting, maybe you’d like to tell me what else I ought to take a look at.”

      That was just the beginning of a very long day.

      Belinda had put in a lot of hours over the past few years holding King’s Castle together, but she had never worked so long or so hard without a rest. She marveled at Faron’s energy, at his strength, at his tirelessness. But no matter how many jobs he threw at her, she was determined not to be the one who cried mercy first.

      It was nearly dusk when he decided they should clean out the tack room in the barn. The small, windowless room that held saddles, bridles and other leather tack was dark and cool. Belinda pulled a string that lit a single bare bulb hanging overhead. She was assaulted by the pungent smells of leather and horses and, once Faron stepped into the room behind her, hardworking man.

      “Some of this leather could use a soaping,” Faron said as he walked around the room checking stirrups and reins.

      “There hasn’t been much time—”

      “We’ll start now.”

      “No.”

      It was the first time since the incident at the windmill that Belinda had objected to anything Faron had suggested. He had been expecting her to quit long before now and head back to the house. She had amazed him with her fortitude. And slowly but surely driven him crazy with her presence.

      His body had tightened as he watched her lick off a fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip that he knew would be salty to the taste. As he watched her stoop and bend and lean in jeans that hugged her rear end like a man’s hand. As he watched her cant her head and lift that golden hair up off her neck so the ever-present breeze could cool her, whipping tiny curls across petal-soft skin.

      He should be glad she had finally given up, glad she would be out of his hair at long last. Perversely, he said the one thing he believed would provoke her into staying.

      “Conceding the battle, Princess?”

      Her violet eyes flashed with anger. “I won’t dignify that comment with an argument. I’m going to get cleaned up for supper. We can start here tomorrow morning.”

      When Belinda tried to leave the room, Faron spread his arms and rested his palms on either side of the doorway, blocking the way out.

      “Please get out of the way,” she said in a controlled voice. “I want to leave.”

      “You surprised me today.”

      She arched a brow but said nothing.

      “I didn’t think you’d be able to keep up all day.”

      She still said nothing.

      “I was wrong.”

      As an apology it lacked a lot. But it was as much of a concession as Faron was willing to make. “There’s something I don’t understand,” he said.

      “What?”

      “Why would someone who’s willing to work as hard as you have today marry a man twice her age for his money? It doesn’t fit.”

      Belinda’s face paled. “It doesn’t have to. I don’t owe you any explanation. Now let me pass.” She wouldn’t discuss her marriage to Wayne with Wayne’s son. She wouldn’t.

      When Faron saw she had no intention of answering, he took his weight off his palms and leaned back against the door frame, his legs widespread. She could get out, but not without touching him.

      Belinda kept her eyes lowered as she tried to skim past him. She had to turn sideways, and the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. She gasped at her body’s reaction to even that brief contact.

      Faron’s response was powerful and instantaneous. Before Belinda could get past him, he clamped his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. His arms folded around her, and he drew her close.

      “Faron, don’t!”

      “Do you think I want to feel like this?” he rasped in her ear. “It’s driving me crazy, knowing how your skin tastes, knowing what it feels like to be inside you—and knowing that you were my father’s wife!”

      Belinda pushed at his chest with the heels of her hands. “Let me go, Faron! This is wrong!”

      “You didn’t think so yesterday.”

      “I told you, I didn’t know who you were yesterday! This situation is awkward enough. Let’s not make it worse.”

      He nuzzled her temple, let his lips trail down to her ear and felt her shiver in his arms. “And this will make it worse?”

      Belinda exhaled a shuddery sigh. “What happened between us was—”

      “A miracle.”

      “A mistake. Faron, we can’t let this happen again.”

      Faron heard the desperation in her voice. He felt the same desperation himself. However, he could afford to be patient. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Neither was she.

      He dropped his hands to his sides and stood up straight so there was more space between them. “Call me when supper’s ready.”

      She