Fairy Tale Weddings (16 page)

“But they didn't.”

“No.” Color invaded her face, and she obviously had difficulty swallowing.

“Tell me what they decided to call you.”

“I—I'd prefer not to.”

“Finding out would be a simple matter,” he said in low, unthreatening tones.

Judy found little amusement in her predicament. “They called me ‘the Dark Prince's woman.' I tried to explain that I was only a friend, but it didn't seem to do any good. This probably embarrasses you, but I couldn't seem to change their minds.”

McFarland felt the laughter leave his face. He'd meant to tease her, but she was concerned that these people, these strangers who occupied his land, had offended him by suggesting she was his woman. He felt as though someone
had given him a swift kick in the behind. He raised his eyes, studying her to be sure she wasn't taunting him, and knew in his heart that it wasn't in her to insult man or beast. And he was both.

Their meal arrived, but McFarland had little appetite. “Do you like the island?” he asked, wanting to hear her speak again. The sound of her voice was soothing to him.

“It's lovely.”

“If there's anything you wish, you need only ask.”

“There's nothing.” Judy saw that his tone, his look, everything about him, had changed. His mocking arrogance had vanished; no longer did he look as though he meant to admonish her for some imagined wrong, or punish her for being her father's daughter. She found it impossible to eat.

“Do you dislike the solitude?”

She searched his face, wondering why he cared. “It's not Manhattan, but that's fine. To be honest, I needed a vacation and this is as close to paradise as I'm likely to find.”

“You've had a nap.”

She nodded.

“You're to have complete run of the house and island.”

“Thank you, John,” she said humbly, “you've been very kind.”

Kind? He'd been kind to force her into staying here? Kind to have blackmailed her into leaving everything familiar in her life? He stared at her, not understanding how she could even suggest such a thing. Abruptly, he pushed aside his plate and stood. “If you'll excuse me, I have some business matters that require my attention.”

“Of course.”

He stormed out of the room as if she'd offended him. For a full minute, Judy sat frozen, uncertain of what had happened between them. He had seemed to want her company, then despised it.

She, too, had no desire to finish her meal, and feeling at odds with herself, she stood. It was still early, and she had no intention of returning to her rooms. John had said she could freely explore the house and she'd barely seen half of it.

Judy never made it beyond the center hall. The doors were what had attracted her most. The huge mahogany panels stretched from the ceiling to the polished floor, reminding her of ancient castles. Unable to resist, she turned both handles, pushed open the massive doors and entered the dimly lit room.

She paused just inside, and sighed with pure pleasure. It was a library, elegantly decorated with comfortable leather chairs, two desks and a variety of tables and lamps. Every wall was filled with books. Judy couldn't have been more pleased if she'd inadvertently stumbled upon a treasure. A flip of the switch bathed the room in light and she hurried forward to investigate.

An hour later, when the clock chimed, Judy was astonished to realize how long she'd been there. Reverently, she folded back the pages of a first edition of Charles Dickens's
A Christmas Carol
. Each book she saw produced a feeling of awe and respect. Mingled with the classics were volumes of modern literature; one entire wall was dedicated to nonfiction.

With such a wide variety to choose from, Judy finally selected a science fiction novel. She sat in a high-backed leather chair and read for an hour before slipping off her
shoes and tucking her feet beneath her. Suddenly thirsty, she went to the meticulous kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. Carrying it into the library, Judy returned to her chair.

McFarland found her there after midnight, sleeping contentedly in the chair, her legs curled under her. Her head was nestled against the upholstery, with one arm carelessly draped over her face. The other dangled limply at her side so that the tips of her fingers almost touched the Persian carpet. Transfixed, he stood there for a moment studying her, unable to look away.

A tender feeling weakened him, and he sat in the chair opposite hers. For a long time, he was content to do nothing but watch her sleep. He wondered at the wealth of emotion she aroused in him. He knew it wasn't love—not even close. He felt protective toward her and yearned to take away the troubles that plagued this young woman's life. Surprisingly, he wanted her to be happy.

She looked as innocent as a child, but was very much a woman. She was gentle and kind, honorable without being lofty. Generous without being a pushover. He'd never known a woman like her, and was shocked to find himself consumed with fear. He could hurt Judy Lovin, hurt her beyond anything she'd known in her life, hurt her more than Richard, who'd stolen her trust and wounded her heart with his greed.

McFarland knew she'd fall in love with him at the slightest encouragement. His conjecture wasn't based on ego, but on the knowledge that Judy, by nature, was giving and loving. If he were to ask, she would deny him nothing. His own power frightened him, but that wasn't what stopped him. He wasn't any knight in shining armor. No, the simple
truth was that the thought of Judy's control over him was more terrifying than any pleasure he'd get from obtaining her love.

He considered waking her and it seemed only natural to lean over and kiss her. Her lips would be soft under his. He pictured her raising her arms and hugging his neck. She would smile at him and they'd stare at each other. She'd blush in that way she had that made her all the more beautiful, and she'd lower her thick lashes as she struggled to hide her feelings from him.

Forcefully, McFarland's fingers clenched the arm of the leather chair. He'd have a maid wake Judy and see her to her room.

She was just a woman, he reminded himself, and no doubt there were a million others like her. Who needed Judy Lovin? Not him.

 

“Midnight,” Judy called, standing on the bottom rung of the corral fence. “If you want it, you'll have to come to me.” She held out the carrot to the prancing black horse who snorted and pawed the ground.

“It's yours for the taking,” she said soothingly. Winning the trust of the sleek, black horse had become paramount in the four days that had passed since the night she'd fallen asleep in the library. John had been avoiding her; Judy was convinced of that. The only times they were together were at dinner, and he was always preoccupied with business, avoiding conversation and generally ignoring her.

Judy wasn't offended as much as bewildered. At any moment, she half expected to receive word that he no longer required her presence on St. Steven's, or some other stiffly worded decree. She'd be happy to leave, although
she'd miss the children, who had fast become her friends. She'd been on the island a week now and surely that was enough time to serve whatever purpose he had in mind.

But she
would
miss the children. She met them daily now on the beach. They brought her small, homemade gifts—a flowerpot and a hat both woven from palm leaves, cleverly done. A huge conch shell and a hundred smaller ones had been given to her with great ceremony. In return she told them stories, laughed at their antics and played their games. She met their mothers and visited their homes. She would miss them, but she wouldn't forget them.

“Midnight,” she coaxed again. “I know you want this carrot.” If John wouldn't allow her to be his friend, then she'd work on the horse. Judy had noticed several similarities between the two; both were angry, arrogant, proud.

The horse remained in the farthest corner of the corral, as determined to ignore her as John seemed to be.

“I suppose all the women tell you how good-looking you are?” she said with a laugh. “But I'm not going to say that. You're much too conceited already.”

Midnight bowed his powerful head and snorted.

“I thought that would get you.” Jumping down from the fence, Judy approached the gate. “You're really going to make me come to you, aren't you?”

The stallion pranced around the yard, his tail arched.

“You devil,” Judy said with a loud sigh. “All this time together and you're more stubborn now than when I started.”

The horse continued to ignore her.

“What if I told you I had a handful of sugar cubes in my pocket?” She patted her hip. “Sweet, sweet sugar cubes that will melt in your mouth.” As she spoke, she released the clasp to the gate and let herself into the corral.

Midnight paused and stared at her, throwing his head back and forth. “You'll have to come closer, though,” she said softly.

His hoof dug at the hard dirt.

“Honestly, horse, you're more stubborn than your master.”

She took three steps toward the huge black stallion, who paused to study her. He jerked his neck, tossing his thick mane.

With one hand on her hip, Judy shook her head. “You don't fool me one bit.”

Someone walked up behind her, but Judy paid no attention, suspecting it was Sam. He was bound to be angry with her. He'd told her repeatedly not to go inside the corral, but since Midnight refused to come to her, she'd decided she had no choice.

“Don't move.”
John's steel-edged words cut through her. “If you value your life, don't move.”

J
udy went still, her heart pounding wildly. She wanted to turn and assure John that Midnight wouldn't hurt her. She longed to tell him she'd been working for days, gaining the stallion's trust. All her life she'd had a way with animals and children. Her father claimed she could make a wounded bear her friend. Midnight had a fiery nature; it was what made him such a magnificent horse. He'd been a challenge, but she believed he'd never purposely injure her. But Judy said none of these things. She couldn't. John's voice had been so cold, so cutting, that she dared not defy him.

The clicking sound behind her told Judy that Midnight's master had entered the corral. He walked past her and his clipped, even stride revealed his fierce anger. He didn't even glance at her and as she noticed the hard look in his eyes, she was glad.

Midnight pranced around the corral, his satiny black head held high, his tail arched, his hooves kicking up loose dirt.

McFarland gave one shrill whistle, to which the stallion
responded without delay. Midnight cocked his head and galloped past Judy to his master's side, coming to an abrupt halt. He lowered his head. With one smooth movement, McFarland gripped the horse's mane and swung onto his back. Midnight protested violently and reared, kicking his powerful front legs.

Judy sucked in her breath, afraid that McFarland wouldn't have time to gain control of the animal. She was wrong; when the horse planted his feet on the ground, John was in charge.

“Get out.”

The words were sharp and he didn't so much as look at her, but then he didn't need to. She could feel his contempt and his anger. Judy did as he said.

McFarland circled the paddock a few times before swinging off the stallion's back and joining her at the corral gate.

“You stupid idiot,” he hissed. He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her one vicious jerk. “You could've been killed!”

When he released her, Judy stumbled backward. Her eyes were wide with fear. In all her life no one had ever spoken to her in such a menacing tone. No one had dared raise a hand to her. Now she faced the wounded bear, and was forced to admit that Charles Lovin had been right—John McFarland was a beast no woman could tame.

“Who let you inside the corral?”

Her throat had thickened, making speech impossible. Even if she'd been able to answer him, she wouldn't have. Sam had no idea she'd ever been near Midnight.

“Sam!” McFarland barked the stableman's name.

The older man rushed out of the barn, limping. His face was red and a sheen of perspiration had broken out on his forehead.

McFarland attacked him with a barrage of swear words. He ended by ordering the man to pack his bags.

Sam went pale.

“No,” Judy cried.

McFarland turned on her, his eyes as cutting as his words. He stood no more than a foot from her, bearing down on her as he shouted, using language that made her gasp. Her eyes widened as she searched his face, attempting to hide her fear. Her chin trembled with the effort to maintain her composure as she squarely met his cold gaze, unwilling to let him know how much he intimidated her.

McFarland couldn't make himself stop shouting at her. The boiling anger erupted like fire from a volcano. By chance, he'd happened to look out his window and he'd seen Judy as she opened the corral gate. The fear had nearly paralyzed him. All he could think of was getting to her, warning her. A picture of Midnight's powerful legs striking out at her had almost driven him insane. He hadn't been angry then, but now he burned with it.

McFarland could see the shock running through Judy's veins as the pulse at the base of her throat pounded frantically. Still, the words came and he hated himself for subjecting her to his uncontrollable tantrum.

“Anyone who pulls an asinine trick like this doesn't deserve to be around good horses,” he shouted. “You're a hazard to everyone here. I don't want you near my stables again. Is that understood?”

Her head jerked back as though he'd slapped her.

“Yes.” She nodded weakly, signaling that she'd abide by his edict.

She left him then, with such dignity that it took all his strength not to run after her and beg her forgiveness.

The air was electrified and McFarland rammed his hand through his hair. Sam stood there, accusing him, silently reprimanding him with every breath. The older man had once been a friend; now his censure scorched McFarland.

“I'll be out of here by morning,” Sam muttered, and with a look of disgust, he turned away.

The remainder of the day was a waste. McFarland couldn't stop thinking of what he'd said to Judy, and he experienced more than a twinge of conscience. That woman had eyes that could tear apart a man's soul. When he'd ordered her to stay away from the horses, she'd returned his look with confused pain, as though that was the last thing she'd expected. He had wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her against his chest and feel the assurance of her heart beating close to his. Instead, he'd lashed out at her, unmercifully striking at her pride when all he'd really wanted to do was protect her.

His vehement feelings shocked him most. He tried to tell himself that Judy deserved every word he'd said. She must have been crazy to get into a pen with an animal as unpredictable as Midnight. He'd warned her about him; so had Sam. Anyone with a brain would have known better. There were times when even he couldn't handle that stallion.

Damn! McFarland slammed his fist against the desk. He couldn't afford to feel like this toward a woman. Any woman, but particularly Judy Lovin.

 

As she came down the stairs for dinner that evening, Judy's stomach tightened and fluttered with nerves. Her
face continued to burn with humiliation. She would've preferred to have dinner sent to her room and completely avoid John, but she had to face the beast for Sam's sake.

“Good evening, John,” she said quietly as she entered the dining room.

He stood with his back to her, staring out the window. He turned abruptly, unable to disguise his surprise. From all appearances, he hadn't expected to see her.

“Judy.”

They stood staring at each other before taking their places at the elegant table.

Not a word was exchanged during the entire meal. In all her memory, Judy couldn't recall a more awkward dinner. Neither had much appetite; eating was a pretense. Only after their plates had been removed and their coffee poured did she dare appeal to the man across the table from her.

“Although I'd rather not talk about what happened this afternoon, I feel we need to discuss Sam.”

John took a sip of his coffee. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he seemed affronted that she'd approach him on a matter he was sure to consider none of her business.

She clutched her napkin and forced herself to continue. “If you make Sam leave the island you might as well cut off both his legs. St. Steven's is his home. The horses are his family. What happened wasn't his fault. He'd told me repeatedly to stay away from Midnight. If he'd known I'd gone into that corral he would've had my hide. I snuck in there when Sam wasn't looking. He doesn't deserve to lose his job because of me.”

John lowered his cup to the saucer without speaking.

“Despite everything people say about you, John McFarland, I trust you to be fair.”

He arched his brows at that comment. This woman had played havoc with his afternoon, caused him to alienate a man he'd considered a friend, and now she seemed to believe that by pleading softly she could wrap him around her little finger.

“Sam leaves in the morning, as scheduled.”

Without ceremony, she rose from her chair. Her eyes steadily held his. “I see now that I misread you,” she told him. “My judgment is usually better, but that isn't important now.” She turned to leave the room. After only a few steps, she paused and looked back. “My father once told me something, but I didn't fully appreciate his wisdom until this moment. He's right. No man is so weak as one who cannot admit he's wrong.”

By the time she reached her rooms, Judy discovered she was shaking. She sat on the edge of her bed and closed her eyes. The disillusionment was almost more than she could bear. She'd been mistaken about John McFarland. He was a wild, untamable beast—the most dangerous kind…one without a heart.

 

Several hours passed, and although John had forbidden her to go near the stables again, Judy couldn't stay away. She had to talk to Sam, tell him how deeply sorry she was.

She changed from her dress into shorts and a T-shirt. As usual the house was silent as she slipped down the stairs and out the front door.

Even the night seemed sullen and disenchanted. The still, heavy air was oppressive. The area around the house was well lit, but the stable was far enough away to be enveloped in heavy shadows. The moon shone dimly and provided little light.

As Judy walked along the path that led to the stables, she felt a chill invade her limbs. She longed for home and the comfort of familiarity. Folding her arms around her middle, she sighed. She tried not to wonder how long John intended to keep her on the island. Surely he'd send her away soon. After the incident with Midnight, he must be eager to get rid of her. She was a thorn in his side—a festering one.

Not for the first time did she feel like an unwelcome stranger to the island. Although she'd done everything possible to make the best of the situation, she was still John's prisoner. In the days since her arrival, she'd struggled to create some normalcy in her life. She'd begun to feel at ease. Now that had changed. Without access to Princess, she wouldn't be able to see the children as frequently and with Sam's dismissal, the other servants would avoid her, fearing they, too, could lose their positions. Loneliness would overwhelm her.

The door to the stable was open, revealing the silhouette of Sam's elongated shadow. His actions were quick and sure and Judy strained her ears, thinking she heard the soft trill of his whistle.

“Evening, Sam,” she said, pausing just inside the open doorway.

“Ms. Lovin.” His eyes brightened with delight, then quickly faded as he glanced around. “Ms. Lovin, you shouldn't be here—”

“I know,” she said gently, interrupting him. “I came to tell you how sorry I am.”

He shrugged his shoulders, seemingly unconcerned. “Don't you worry about that. It's all taken care of now.”

The words took a moment to sink in. “You mean you aren't leaving?”

Sam rubbed the side of his jaw and cocked his head. “I've never known Mr. McFarland to change his mind. A man doesn't become as wealthy as that one without being decisive. I knew I'd done wrong to let you get close to that stallion—I figured I deserved what I got. Can't say I agree with the way he laid into you, though, you being a lady and all, but you took it well.”

“You aren't leaving the island?” Judy repeated, still not convinced she could believe what she was hearing.

“No. Mr. McFarland came to me, said he'd overreacted. He asked me personally to stay on. I don't mind telling you I was surprised.”

So was Judy. She felt warm and wonderful. The sensation was so strong that she closed her eyes for a moment. She hadn't misjudged John. He was everything she hoped.

“Mr. McFarland's here now,” Sam continued, his voice low. “Midnight's still in the corral and he went out there. I don't suppose you saw him or you wouldn't be here.” The man who ruled the stables removed his hat and wiped his forehead, then gave Judy a sheepish grin. “He didn't say anything to me about letting you in the stables again.”

“I'll leave,” she said, unable to restrain a smile. Sam was back in John's good graces, and she'd become a threat.

The older man paused and looked around before whispering, “You come see me anytime you want. Princess will miss you if you don't bring her a carrot every now and then.”

Judy laughed and gently placed her hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Sam.”

He grinned in response, and she was grateful that she could count him as her friend.

Judy left the barn, intent on escaping before John discov
ered her presence. Her world had righted itself and there was no reason to topple it again—at least not this soon.

She was halfway to the house when she changed her mind, realizing she wanted to thank John. Like his stallion, he was dangerous and unpredictable. He was different from any man she'd ever known, and it frightened her how much she wanted to be with him. How much she wanted to thank him for not firing Sam.

John's shadow moved in and out of the dim moonlight as she approached. As Sam had told her, he stood by the corral, one booted foot braced against the bottom rung, his arms resting on the top.

A minute or so later she joined him. “It's a lovely night, isn't it?” she said, tentatively leaning against the fence.

McFarland tensed, his face hard and unyielding. He avoided looking at her. “There's a storm brewing.”