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Stop it. She jerked forward and opened her eyes, planting her foot flat and bringing the rocker to an abrupt halt. She drew in a ragged breath, blinking against the darkness and smoothing her fingers lightly across her brow. She shoved back an errant curl, and then, as she dropped her hands to her lap, she saw him.
Derek stood at the base of the porch steps, his head back, and he seemed to be staring directly at her. Darkness concealed the fine details, but she didn’t doubt for a moment that it was him. His size, his bearing, everything about the man marked his identity.
How long had he been there? And more importantly, how was it that she could recognize him so easily, after no more than a few days’ acquaintance?
“It’s a lovely evening,” she said softly, the first thing that came to mind. The politeness of her voice seemed oddly appropriate, considering her earlier bad temper.
“You seem to be enjoying it.”
“I am. We won’t be so lucky this summer.”
He shrugged. “I’ve endured worse.”
Worse? Amber kept the question to herself. Derek seemed to care little for the comforts of civilization, yet Richard had described life for the Fontaines of South Carolina as being one of privilege and luxury. Then again, she remembered Richard sharing other stories of living in the bosom of the family.
“Richard described summers in South Carolina as being…difficult, I think was the word he used.”
“My—he told you of his life there?”
Amber nodded, then realized that Derek couldn’t see her through the darkness. “He talked of Charleston and your family on occasion. He loved it, missed it, I think, but he seemed satisfied with his life.” She smiled fondly and settled back in the rocker. “He was an adventurer, he said, better suited to conquering new worlds.”
Somehow the evening shadows seemed to ease her discomfort with Derek. Perhaps it gave her the illusion of anonymity? Or perhaps it was because she couldn’t see his fallen-angel features and bleak eyes, that face of Richard’s that wasn’t Richard at all.
“An interesting assessment of my uncle. Not one I would have made.” Derek’s voice carried an unmistakable edge of disapproval. “Since I hadn’t the pleasure of meeting Richard, however, I’m hardly qualified to disagree.”
“I think it was his love for your family home that kept him from adopting a more traditional Texas style for the ranch house. Adobe was fine for some of the buildings—” she waved a vague hand toward the assortment of shadowy outbuildings “—but it wasn’t right for his home. I gather there are similarities between this house and the one at Palmetto?”
“I suppose, from a nostalgic viewpoint.” Darkness shifted around Derek as he moved, and his boots thudded against the wood of the steps as he started upward. “I understand that Richard started with very little here. He did well for himself.”
“Yes, he did well, but it was never easy. He worked very hard. He told wonderful stories of how he slept out in the open at first, capturing a few wild mustangs and some longhorn cattle.” Amber smiled, the reminiscence giving her real pleasure. It came as a distinct relief from sidestepping the ceaseless, difficult questions that had preoccupied Derek until now. “He didn’t construct the house until he was able to find the original Spanish land grant so he could purchase the property.”
“Sounds like the mark of a good businessman.”
An unusual emphasis on the words alerted Amber to some skepticism. “You disagree with his reasoning?”
A rustle of fabric left her wondering if he shrugged, then she caught the dismissive wave of his hand. “You tell me how effective it was. The place is all but falling down around us.”
“It is not!” She surged forward, and her goodwill toward him disappeared with the last emphatic word.
“Of course it is. Why are you so defensive? Have you taken a good look around you lately? There’s more to fix than there is right.”
Amber found herself on her feet, the rocking chair clattering behind her. “That may be, but it’s not because of incompetence or mismanagement on Richard’s part. Don’t even think such a thing! There may be some problems, yes, but aside from his death, it’s because of—”
“The war, I know.” He cut her off, his voice sharp. “I know all about the war. Frank Edwards gave me the same excuse. I didn’t believe it any more coming from him.”
“Of course it was the war,” she snapped, unable to stop herself. “Everything goes back to the war these days. But there’s more to it—you must know that. There was the cattle rustling. And Richard’s death.” The words ran out as hastily as they had come, leaving Amber momentarily breathless.
“Ah, now there’s another interesting topic.” Derek sounded indifferent—disturbingly so. It sent Amber’s nerves screaming and did nothing to restore her breathing. “Rustling,” he continued. “And murder.”
“What do you mean?”
“I get the impression your father didn’t exactly die of natural causes.” He neared the top step and stopped, but his words continued as her heart began to pound. “Nor did Richard, it seems. Why didn’t you tell me he was murdered by rustlers?”
Amber gaped at him, but the darkness revealed nothing. “You didn’t know how he died?”
“How did you think I would find out?”
“The same way you found out you’d inherited the Double F. From Frank Edwards, I suppose.”
Derek laughed, but it was a sharp, hostile sound. “It seems there was a lot Mr. Edwards neglected to tell me.”
Amber nodded in spite of herself. She never would have expected to agree with Derek, but he was right about Frank Edwards. Still, she chose her words carefully, fearful that saying the wrong thing would shift his attention back to probing for details of her father’s death. “It has been my experience that Mr. Edwards has a habit of…reordering the truth to suit himself.”
“You mean he lies.”
“He likes things tidy. Arranged as he wants them.”
“Dammit, Amber!” The words erupted from Derek, startling her with their strength and volume—and his use of her given name. Until this moment, he had not referred to her by any name at all.
“Why is everything such a holy secret around here?” he demanded irritably, climbing the final stair. “Why won’t anyone talk to me?”
“We are talking to you,” she said softly, firmly, holding her ground despite the temptation to step back. “You just don’t want to hear the answers we have. There’s nothing we can do about that.”
The night fell quiet for a moment that grew painfully long.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Derek’s voice sounded mild enough, but it carried a razor’s edge all the same. “That reminds me, I have a message for you.”
“A message?” Her fingers began trembling, and she wove them together tightly.
“Regards. From Clem and Twigg Andrews.” Derek stepped forward until he was within arm’s length of her.
“You met the Andrews brothers.” Ordinarily she would have smiled to think of the eccentric old men, but she couldn’t seem to muster one now.
“Among other people. They’re an interesting pair. More intelligent than their nephews. Bill or Whitley. Bill’s a bit fussy, but he doesn’t have Whitley’s temper. The old men are more honest than Frank Edwards. And friendlier than Eliza Bates.”
Amber blinked and wished the darkness away, feeling an acute need to see Derek’s face.
He’d met Eliza Bates.
Dear Lord, why her, of all people? Had she been alone, or had Melinda—or, worse, Jeff—been with her? Amber couldn’t ask such questions, but she managed what she could. “You met a number of people.”
“I should have stopped in Twigg before I came to the ranch. They’re an entertaining, informative bunch.”
“Entertaining?” God in Heaven, why couldn’t she think? She knew very well that Derek was toying with her, but she couldn’t 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 you saying, in this roundabout way, that you didn’t try to seduce Eliza Bates’s son-in-law? And you weren’t Richard’s mistress?”
He heard a sharp intake of breath, then nothing. “I’m not saying anything,” she said eventually. “My answer doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? To you or to me?”
“To anyone. Now let me go.” She tugged at her arm.
Derek didn’t release her, but he didn’t tighten his grip, either. “I could argue that I have a right to know.”
Complete and utter silence followed his pronouncement, then Amber jerked her arm back with little care, as though she took serious offense at either his touch or his statement. “What gives you any rights where I’m concerned?” she demanded hotly, and darted into the house.
He stepped inside behind her. “I own the Double F. That makes me responsible for everyone here—including you. It gives me the right to know something about you.”
