had never stayed long at the ranch, not since that summer when she had been seventeen.
“It’s about time you thought about coming home for good,” he said.
“There’s no reason for me to.”
His dark eyes glinted at her from under the brim of his hat, but he didn’t say anything, and when he turned and began threading his way through the groups of people Cathryn followed him without saying anything either. Sometimes she thought that communication between her and Rule was impossible, but at other times it seemed that no words were necessary. She didn’t understand him, but she knew him, knew his pride, his toughness, his damned black temper that was no less frightening for being controlled. She had grown up knowing that Rule Jackson was a dangerous man; her formative years had been dominated by him.
He led her out of the air terminal and across the pavement to the area where private aircraft were kept, his long legs eating up the distance without effort; but Cathryn wasn’t used to keeping up with his strides and she refused to trot after him like a dog on a leash. She maintained her own pace, keeping him in sight, and at last he stopped beside a blue-and-white twin-engined Cessna, opening the cargo door and storing her bags inside, then looking around impatiently for her. “Hurry it up,” he called, seeing that she was still some distance away.
Cathryn ignored him. He put his hands on his hips and waited for her, his booted feet braced in an arrogant stance that came naturally to him. When she reached him he didn’t say a word; he merely pulled the door open and turned back to her, catching her around the waist and lifting her easily into the plane. She moved to the copilot’s seat and Rule swung himself into the pilot’s seat, then closed the door and tossed his hat onto the seat behind him, raking his lean fingers through his hair before reaching for the headset. Cathryn watched him, her expression revealing nothing, but she couldn’t help remembering the vitality of that thick dark hair, the way it had curled around her fingers....
He glanced at her and caught her watching him. She didn’t look guiltily away but held her gaze, knowing that the still blankness of her face gave away nothing.
“Do you like what you see?” he taunted softly, letting the headset dangle from his fingers.
“Why did Monica send you?” she asked flatly, ignoring his question and attacking with one of her own.
“Monica didn’t send me. You’ve forgotten; I run the ranch, not Monica.” His dark eyes rested on her, waiting for her to flare up at him and shout that she owned the ranch, not he, but Cathryn had learned well how to hide her thoughts. She kept her face blank, her gaze unwavering.
“Exactly. I’d have thought you were too busy to waste time fetching me.”
“I wanted to talk to you before you got to the ranch; this seemed like a perfect opportunity.”
“So talk.”
“Let’s get airborne first.”
Flying in a small plane was no novelty to her. From her birth she had been accustomed to flying, since a plane was considered essential to a rancher. She sat back in the seat and stretched her cramped muscles, sore from the long flight from Chicago. Big jets screamed as they came in for landings or lifted off, but Rule was unruffled as he talked to the tower and taxied to a clear strip. In only minutes they were up and skimming westward, Houston shimmering in the spring heat to the south of them. The earth beneath had the rich green hue of new grass, and Cathryn drank in the sight of it. Whenever she came for a visit she had to force herself to leave, and it always left an ache for months, as if something vital had been torn from her. She loved this land, loved the ranch, but she had survived these years only by keeping to her self-imposed exile.
“Talk,” she said shortly, trying to stem the memories.
“I want you to stay this time,” he said, and Cathryn felt as if he had punched her in the stomach.
Stay? Didn’t he, of all people, know how impossible that was for her? She slid a quick sideways glance at him and found him frowning intently at the horizon. For a moment her eyes lingered on the strong profile before she jerked her head forward again.
“No comment?” he asked.
“It’s impossible.”
“Is that it? You’re not even going to ask why?”
“Will I like the answer?”
“No.” He shrugged. “But it’s not something you can avoid.”
“Then tell me.”
“Ricky’s back again; she’s drinking a lot, running out of control. She’s been doing some wild things, and people are talking.”
“She’s a grown woman. I can’t control her,” said Cathryn coldly, though it made her furious to think of Ricky dragging the Donahue name in the dirt.
“I think you can. Monica can’t, but we both know that Monica doesn’t have much mothering instinct. On the other hand, since your last birthday you control the ranch, which makes Ricky dependent on you.” He turned his head to pin her to the seat with his dark hawk’s eyes. “I know you don’t like her, but she’s your stepsister and she’s using the Donahue name again.”
“Again?” Cathryn sniped. “After two divorces, why bother to change names?” Rule was right: she didn’t like Ricky, never had. Her stepsister, two years her senior, had the temperament of a Tasmanian devil. Then she slanted a mocking look at him. “You told me that you run the ranch.”
“I do,” he replied so softly that the hair on the back of her neck rose. “But I don’t own it. The ranch is your home, Cat. It’s time you settled down to that fact.”
“Don’t lecture me, Rule Jackson. My home is in Chicago now—”
“Your husband’s dead,” he interrupted brutally. “There’s nothing there for you and you know it. What do you have? An empty apartment and a boring job?”
“I like my job; besides, I don’t have to work.”
“Yes, you do, because you’d go crazy sitting in that empty apartment with nothing to do. So your husband left you a little money. It’ll be gone in five years, and I won’t let you drain the ranch dry to finance that place.”
“It’s my ranch!” she pointed out shortly.
“It was also your father’s, and he loved it. Because of him, I won’t let you throw it away.”
Cathryn lifted her chin, struggling to keep her composure. That was a low blow and he knew it. He glanced at her again and continued. “The situation with Ricky is getting worse. I can’t handle it and do my job too. I need help, Cat, and you’re the logical person.”
“I can’t stay,” she said, but for once her uncertainty was evident in her voice. She disliked Ricky, but, on the other hand, she didn’t hate her. Ricky was a pain and a problem, yet there had been times when they were younger when they had giggled together like ordinary teenagers. And as Rule had pointed out, Ricky was using the Donahue name, having taken it as her own when Cathryn’s father had married Monica, though it had never been made legal.
“I’ll try to arrange a leave of absence.” Cathryn heard herself giving in, and in
