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hands. "And I don't want my mother there. She'd make a circus out of it."
He relaxed a little. "Okay."
"And I don't want to have to walk down the aisle dragging my leg behind me."
"After we've done those exercises for a few weeks, you won't be dragging it behind you," he told
her. "You'll improve. But it's going to take time and effort and hard work. And no backsliding."
"Tyrant," she muttered. "All right, I'll do it, even if I curl up and die of pain."
"When?" he asked, his voice strangely husky, his eyes searching hers.
"When do you want to?" she asked warily.
"Next week." When she gasped, he added, "Well, that's how it has to be unless you want
newspaper coverage. I'm newsworthy-homely face and all."
"You are not homely; will you please stop running yourself down?" she asked, exasperated.
"If you'll stop talking about your gimpy leg, I'll stop talking about my homely mug," he replied.
"Done."
"Want a diamond?" he asked.
"No. Just a plain gold band."
"Have it your own way." He turned and started out the door.
"That's it?" she queried, astonished. "That's all?"
"What else do you want?" he asked reasonably. "If I get down on my knees on that cold floor,
there's a good chance I'll be stuck there until spring. And kissing you to seal the engagement wouldn't
make much sense, either, with you lying there naked."
"I am not naked!"
"As good as," he replied. "So I'm doing the decent thing and getting out of here, like a thoughtful
prospective bridegroom. Don't stay up too late. We want to get a good start on those exercises in the
morning. Sleep tight, now." And he closed the door behind him.
She stared at the door for a moment, open-mouthed. What a proposal! What an ardent bridegroom!
She only wished she had some priceless Ming vase or something to fling at the door. She lay back,
and with a muffled curse, pulled the covers over her head.
Ty, meanwhile, was walking down the long hallway whistling softly, his face animated, full of life-
and almost handsome. He grinned and then he laughed. It was going to be a long, hard road, but he'd
taken the first step. He was going to make up to her for every horrible thing that had happened. He
was going to spoil her rotten. He opened the door to his own room and went in. Sleep would be a
long time coming, he knew.
But he didn't even care.
Chapter Seven
Erin had hoped that being engaged would change Ty. Not so. He was the same as before, right
down to the purely domineering way he made her do the hated exercises and stood over her the whole
while.
"Why don't you do them too?" she grumbled a few mornings later as he was drilling her.
"My hip isn't busted," he explained patiently. "A little higher, honey; you aren't stretching far
enough."
He never used to use endearments, but now he was calling her "honey" every chance he got. She
smiled a little at that telling change of character. Well, she conceded, perhaps he had changed a bit.
He was more relaxed since she'd been at the ranch, more approachable. She studied him while she
did the bicycle exercise and thought that he didn't even seem all that homely to her anymore. He was a
striking man physically, and he had beautiful hands-long-fingered, lean and elegant, darkly tanned like
the rest of him, with flat nails and a sprinkling of dark hair on the backs.
"Take a picture," he advised, catching her appraisal. "It'll scare off the crows."
"Shame on you," she chided. "I was just admiring your manly physique, not criticizing you."
"You're not bad yourself," he murmured, smiling faintly as he ran his eyes over her body. "That
burgundy thing you're wearing looks good on you."
"Thank you," she said, surprised by the compliment. "It's called a leotard."
"What are you going to get married in?" he asked between sips of coffee.
"Well," she began, panting as she sat up and wiped her face with a towel, "I have a beige street-
length dress-"
"The hell you say," he interrupted hotly.
She stared at him, uncomprehending. "What's the matter with you?"
"White, that's what," he returned shortly. He put the cup down and kneeled beside her. "White. No
beige or green or gray. You get married in a white dress."
Her face colored. "I don't have the right anymore," she murmured.
"It was me," he said levelly, although his eyes were flashing. "I remember exactly what you looked
like, and how new it was to you. The instant it happened, I was looking straight into your eyes. I even
remember how it felt: white."
She swallowed. "White," she said slowly, shaken by the passion in his voice, his eyes.
"No man ever had a sweeter virgin," he breathed, looking at her mouth. "No man ever enjoyed an
initiation as much as I enjoyed that one. There's never been anyone but me, and we both know it. In
the eyes of God, that married us as surely as any minister will, and nobody's going to shame you out
of your white wedding dress. Not even your own little puritan conscience."
She managed a smile. "You're a nice man sometimes."
"I haven't had much practice at being nice," he confessed, toying with the sleeve of her leotard. "I
grew up pretty alone, and I've been that way most of my life. I never mixed well. I still don't."
He was so different in these rare moods. So approachable. She reached out hesitantly and touched
the back of his hand, letting her fingers learn the hair-roughened skin, the long, elegant fingers.
"Nicotine stains," she murmured, seeing the yellow between his forefinger and his middle finger.
"Why do you smoke so much?"
"I only do it when I'm strung out, living on my nerves," he said quietly, looking straight into her
eyes. "You do that to me. Having you around, being near you."
She smiled. "I can't imagine anything or anyone making you nervous, least of all me."
"Think so? Look." He held out his hand, and she saw that it was trembling slightly.
Shocked, she looked up into his eyes and saw the flames there, burning steadily, consuming.
Suddenly she understood. "Oh, Ty..." she breathed.
"That's why you shouldn't carouse around here in see-through gowns," he murmured, smiling at his
own vulnerability. "I'm a case when I get close to you."
She searched his silvery eyes quietly. So it hadn't been easy for him, either. His conscience had
hurt because of the way things had happened. The loss of the baby disturbed him, Bruce's death had
hurt, was still hurting probably. He'd had his own share of grief and guilt, yet he'd come himself to
bring her back to Staghorn, forced her to feel again, bullied her into caring about her health. And she'd
given him nothing except a hard time. Bruce had done this to them, out of misplaced love and blazing
jealousy...but it was time to let go of the past and take responsibility for the future. Their future. It was
too late to dwell on what might have been if Bruce hadn't interfered.
"After we're married," she said softly, choosing her words with exquisite care and looking into his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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