Heiress (33 page)

"It's on the table in the foyer." Babs came down the steps, dressed in a pair of slacks that looked like relics of the forties, with a scarf tied around her head like some Aunt Jemima character.

Abbie didn't know where her mother was finding the clothes she'd been wearing lately, but she suspected they were coming from the old trunks her mother had dragged out of the attic. She walked over to the side table and started leafing through the mail.

"I'm so glad you're here, Abbie. Which bedroom do you want for yourself at the other house? You never did say when we went over to the Hix farm to look at it," she reminded her as Abbie ripped open the manila envelope bearing the return address of Lane Canfield's office and pulled out the printed sales catalogue. "I'm trying to decide which dresser sets to keep and which to sell. Yours will fit in one room but not in the other. Same for mine, but the guest bedroom set will work in either."

On the third page of the catalogue, Abbie found River Breeze's name listed in bold type. Even though she had suspected that the filly would be included despite her claim of ownership, something died inside her when she actually saw it in print. Two days ago, Lane had called to inform her that the probate court seemed to be taking the position that the filly was too valuable to be regarded as a family pet. Yet Abbie had hoped.

"Abbie, did you hear me? Which bedroom do you want?"

"I don't care." She let the pages of the catalogue flip shut, then dropped it on the table with the rest of the mail. "You choose the one you want and I'll take the other."

"Is something wrong, Abbie?" Frown lines creased her forehead as Babs glanced from her to the catalogue and torn envelope on the table.

"Wrong?" Abbie shook her head vaguely. "I'm not sure I know what's right or wrong anymore, Momma." She reached for the front doorknob. “I'll see you later."

Abbie walked out of the house onto the wide porch feeling beaten. Everything was going from bad to worse, it seemed, and she wondered when it was going to stop. When was something good going to happen to her?

As she reached the top of the steps, she heard the hinges creak on the picket gate and looked up. MacCrea was striding toward her, tall and vigorous, a smile splitting his strong face. Here was something good, she realized and suddenly became aware of the bright shining sun and the blue of the jay on the lawn.

She practically ran down the steps, but by the time she reached the last one, he was there. And that step eliminated his height advantage and put her on just the right level to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him long and strong, putting everything she had into it. After a startled instant, he responded in kind, returning the driving pressure of her lips and wrapping his arms tightly around her and molding her to his body.

When she finally dragged her lips from his mouth, she was trembling. "I've missed you, Mac," she murmured. "I haven't seen you for two days. Where have you been?"

"If this is the kind of welcome I get, I'm going to leave more often." His low-pitched voice was a little husky.

"You hadn't better." She needed him. Abbie hadn't realized how much until now.

"I've got some good news. As of this morning, a major drilling-fluid company in Houston has agreed to field-test my computerized system for checking the downhole performance of mud—and market it, if it proves successful. The financing and everything has all been arranged."

"Are you serious?" For a split second she hardly dared to believe him, but the glint of satisfaction in his eyes told her it was true. "That's wonderful! Mac, it's fantastic!"

"You're damned right it is. And you and I are going out on the town and celebrate, starting now," he declared.

"This minute?" But she realized that was exactly what he meant. "MacCrea, I can't. I've got a thousand and one things I have to do this afternoon. Later, after the horses are fed tonight—"

"We're going now." His half-smile was lazy and confident.

"You're crazy. I can't leave all this work for Ben." Abbie tried to push away from him, but his arms were locked together behind her back.

"He'll manage. And if some of the horses go hungry tonight, it's not going to hurt them. You're coming with me and that's final."

"I am not—and that's final!" She didn't like his high-handed attitude. It smacked of dictatorship, and no one told her what to do, not even MacCrea.

His smile faded. "If that's the way you feel"—he paused, and she felt his arms loosen their hold on her, his hands retreating to her waist as he took a step backward—"I guess I'll just have to take matters into my own hands."

Suddenly she was being lifted. Abbie tried to struggle, but it all happened too fast. One minute her feet were on the steps, and the next she was slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

"MacCrea Wilder, you put me down this minute," she ordered through gritted teeth and pushed at his back, trying to lever herself off his shoulder, but he had a viselike grip around her thighs. Abbie held herself stiffly, refusing to kick and beat at him like some hysterical female.

"Sorry."

"You're not the least bit sorry," she spat, bobbing against his shoulder as he climbed the porch steps. "And just where do you think you're taking me?"

"To get you cleaned up. You smell like a horse."

"And you smell like a. . . a. . ." She couldn't think of anything vile enough as he paused to pull the front door open wide, then carried her inside. "Dammit, MacCrea, will you please put me down now?" She wanted to hit him, but she knew how ineffectual any resistance would be.

"If I do, will you go upstairs and get ready?"

"No."

"That's what I thought." He shifted her to rest a little higher on his shoulder and headed for the staircase. "Hello, Babs," he said calmly.

Abbie twisted around to see in front of him. Her mother was halfway down the steps, staring at them in shocked bewilderment. "Momma, make him put me down," she demanded.

"I'm kidnapping Abbie and taking her out for a night on the town, but first I have to get her cleaned up." The lazy confidence in his voice made it easy for her to imagine the look on his face. "If you could just tell me which bedroom is hers, I'd appreciate it."

"The second door on the right at the top of the stairs."

"Momma!" Abbie was shocked at her betrayal.

"It will do you good to go out. You've been working too hard lately." Babs smiled at her as she walked by, continuing down the stairs.

"See? Even your mother agrees with me."

"My mother—"

"Careful," MacCrea cut in. "After all, she is your mother. It's not nice to call her names." At the top of the stairs, he turned right and headed for the open door to her bedroom.

"How dare you lecture me on manners?" Abbie protested angrily as he kicked the door the rest of the way open with his foot. "That makes about as much sense as some urban cowboy telling a real one how to crease his hat." Once inside the bedroom, MacCrea still didn't set her down or stop. "This is getting ridiculous," she muttered through her clenched teeth, the blood rushing to her head. "Will you just put me down?"

"In a minute."

Suddenly she had a glimpse of another doorway coming up—the one to her bathroom. "MacCrea, what are you doing?" she yelped in panic.

He swung her off his shoulders and set her down in the shower stall. "I told you, I'm going to get you cleaned up," he reminded her complacently.

Certain he was bluffing, Abbie faced him squarely. "You and whose army?" The taunt was barely out when he swung her around to face the shower head and reached for the faucets. "MacCrea, no! Don't!" She grabbed at his hand, trying to stop him from turning the faucet on. "My clothes, you can't!" She screamed in shock as a full blast of cold water sprayed down on top of her. Sputtering with anger and a mouthful of water, Abbie groped for the faucet handle and finally managed to turn it off after she was already drenched to the skin.

Her hair was plastered in a wet sheet covering her eyes. She pulled it apart in the middle to glare at MacCrea, standing safe and dry outside the stall, his arms folded across his chest and his expression disgustingly smug.

"Now you'll have to get cleaned up and change clothes."

"Ya wanna bet?" She threw him a killing glance as she shook the excess water from her hands, but it didn't help. More just ran down from her wet blouse.

MacCrea reached out a hand and rested it on the shower faucet, his towering bulk effectively blocking her exit from the shower. "Honey, I'll even give you odds," he drawled. "Believe me, I would enjoy scrubbing you from head to foot. Truthfully, that idea isn't half-bad."

Just for an instant Abbie let herself fantasize that MacCrea was in the shower with her, his hands massaging the soap into her skin, lathering her breasts, and rubbing over her pubic bone. "Is that a threat, or a promise?" she countered, challenging him to go through with it at the same second that Jackson appeared in the bathroom doorway.

The usually unflappable houseman stared at them, his lips parted in astonishment. "Jackson," Abbie whispered, suddenly realizing that her wet blouse was virtually transparent—and she wasn't wearing a bra.

MacCrea glanced over his shoulder. "Did you want something, Jackson?" Inching sideways, Abbie shifted to hide behind MacCrea, feeling oddly embarrassed—for both herself and Jackson.

"I. . . I thought. . . I heard a scream."

"It was just Abbie," MacCrea explained. "Nothing for you to worry about. I'll handle it."

"Of course, sir," Jackson replied, recovering his poise and withdrawing with just a hint of a bow.

"Poor Jackson," Abbie said sympathetically. "I've scandalized him totally." As MacCrea laughed under his breath, she glared at him. "It's your fault. You're a bastard, do you know that?"

"And you're an ill-tempered bitch." His mustache twitched with his half-hearted effort to contain the mocking smile that played upon his lips. "It looks like we were made for each other." Straightening, he took his hand away from the faucet. "Now get out of those wet clothes and get cleaned up."

As he walked out of the bathroom, he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone. She stood there, dripping in the shower, unable to think about anything except that one remark he'd made. She wondered if he meant it. . . if he really believed they were made for each other, or if he had merely said it in jest. She didn't want it to be an idle joke. On the heels of that realization came the recognition that she was definitely in love with him—more in love than she'd ever been in her life. She felt suddenly afraid and defensive. She wasn't sure she wanted to love anyone this completely. It left her exposed and vulnerable.

Hurriedly she peeled off her wet clothes and stepped under the shower again. As she ran the soapy sponge over her body, she couldn't rid herself of the thought that its pleasing roughness might have come from MacCrea's caressing hands if Jackson hadn't shown up. She tried to tell herself it was just as well, but it didn't ease the ache she felt.

She stepped out of the shower and toweled herself dry, then wrapped another towel around her head and one around her body, sarong-fashion. As she walked out of the bathroom, Abbie saw the lacy underwear lying on her bed: bra, panties, slip, even a pair of sheer silk stockings. Then she heard the scrape of wire hangers being pushed along a clothes rod, the sound coming from her walk-in closet. Frowning, she walked over to it and saw MacCrea inside, going through her clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to find something for you to wear tonight." He pulled a red strapless dress of silk chiffon, layered in ruffles, from the rack. "This isn't bad."

"I'll pick out my own clothes, thank you." Abbie took it from him and hung it back up, nagged by the thought that maybe he'd done this with other women he'd known in the past. She was surprised by the surge of jealousy and possessiveness she felt. She couldn't stand the idea of MacCrea being with anyone else.

"Not that feathered thing, though," he said, slipping his arms around her middle, crossing them in front of her waist and pulling her back against him. The towel came untucked, but his arms held it in place. "You smell like a woman now," he murmured. "All you need is a little touch of perfume here." As he nuzzled the ridge of her bare shoulder, Abbie instinctively arched into a caress. "And here." He nibbled at the pulsing vein in her neck, sending hills of pleasure dancing over her skin. "And maybe a dab. . . here." His hand slid up between her breasts and hooked a finger over the towel, dragging it farther down as he traced a line down the center of her cleavage.

When he lifted his head, breaking off the stimulating nuzzling of her neck, Abbie turned within the circle of his arms to face him, the towel slipping more. "Don't stop now. I was just getting warmed up."

"Aren't you ever satisfied?" He gazed down at her with easy confidence.

"Did I imply I wasn't satisfied? I am, you know. . . at least most of the time,” she added deliberately to tease him.

"Only most of the time?" He arched an eyebrow in amusement. "That's not how I remember it."

"Maybe you need to refresh my memory." She started unbuttoning his shirt.

"If I don't walk out of this bedroom in five minutes, especially now that the shower's not running, what is your mother going to think? And Jackson?" His eyes darkened perceptibly as his gaze traveled rapidly over her face, her bare shoulders, and the ever-lower-drooping towel.

"Momma is a woman. She understands. As for Jackson, I've already scandalized him. Besides"—she paused and slid her hands inside his shirt, spreading it open to expose his muscular chest—"it doesn't usually take longer than five minutes, does it?"

"You little witch." His voice rumbled from deep inside his chest, richly laced with humor. "You are going to eat those words."

"I'd like to," Abbie said, looking up at him with half-closed eyes, their lids weighted with passion. She reached for the buckle on his belt and MacCrea swore softly, achingly.

Two hours later, they were seated at a table in the crowded steakhouse, waiting for their drinks to arrive. Abbie opened her menu and glanced over the selections.