Chapter One
The willowy blond was spotlighted in the center of the stage, her long platinum hair gleaming, her soft blue eyes half-closed and faintly sultry as she sang. Her voice, as clear and soulful as a bell in late evening, held the audience spellbound.
Heather Shaw was only twenty, but she had the stage presence of a much older performer. This was her first big break, though by no means her first performance. Tonight was the culmination of two years’ work, the moment she had looked forward to ever since she’d set out to win her independence from Cole.
As the last notes of her finale were followed by loud, enthusiastic applause, she felt strangely empty. She stood there, a vision in black lace and silver, and wondered if this was all there was to success.
When she’d left the ranch, Cole had warned her that success wasn’t the gleaming treasure she imagined. “It won’t be enough,” he’d said in that cool, controlled voice of his. “You’ll miss Big Spur.”
Heather sighed as she took off her stage makeup, changed into street clothes and got her jacket and purse. It was well past midnight, and she wanted nothing more than her bed. Cole was right—she did miss Big Spur.
She climbed into her little sports car with a wry smile. Maybe it would be best if she gave up her ambition and went home to the ranch. The rain was misting all around her, and she shivered, uncertain whether it was the cold or a sudden wave of homesickness that had caused her to tremble.
She pulled out into the sparse traffic and sat impatiently at a red light. Staring through the rain-blurred windshield at the nearly empty road, she wondered what Cole would say if he could see the loneliness in her eyes now.
The light changed and she stepped on the accelerator, in a hurry to get home to her warm apartment. She sped down the narrow street, unable to see the car coming at her on the wrong side of the road until she rounded a curve. And then it was too late. She gasped, hit the wheel too hard, and heard with a sense of unreality the screeching of tires, the crushing of metal, the wild shattering of broken glass….
* * *
Heather woke to darkness. It lurked outside the drawn blinds on the window, and she felt alone and afraid. Her slender body moved anxiously between the crispness of clean cotton sheets in the narrow hospital bed. She wanted to scream, but that was impossible. Her long, pink-tipped fingers went to her throat in frustration, and tears washed her pale blue eyes. If only Cole would come!
Her eyes darted again to the blinds and she frowned, tossing her long platinum hair restlessly on the pillow, teasing it into curling wisps. Surely he would have come as soon as he heard about the accident! Despite their disagreements, the stepbrother she worshiped would never have deserted her at a time like this. Cole could be cruel, but he was never heartless.
She shivered under the thin sheet. The heat was on, of course, but the room was still chilly. She’d have given a lot for one of the quilts her stepmother Emma liked to make on cold winter nights.
The door opened, and a smiling young nurse came in with a tray. “Time for your dinner,” she said pleasantly. She put the tray down and paused to rearrange the bedclothes before moving the food within reach.
Heather tried to speak, but it wasn’t any different now than it had been last night when they’d extricated her from the wreckage of the sports car. No sound came from her throat except a hoarse croak. The fear showed in every line of her delicate face and in the pale blue Siamese cat eyes under the tousled platinum hair that fell in untidy wisps around her shoulders.
The nurse glanced down and read her expression. “It’s not permanent,” she assured her. “Just a result of shock from the accident. You’ll talk again, dear.”
But I’m a professional singer, she wanted to protest. I’m a singer, and I’ve just gotten my first big break! Why did this have to happen to me now? I’m committed to a two-week run at the Bon Soir, and now everything’s ruined!
Her eyes closed on a wave of nausea. If only it hadn’t been raining. If only she’d listened to Cole and bought a bigger car, one that wouldn’t have gone into a skid on the wet road…. Heather’s soft eyes filled with tears. She glanced around at the bedside table and mimed her frustration at having nothing to write with.
“I’ll get you something,” the nurse promised. “Back in a minute.”
Picking at the food in front of her, Heather watched the nurse’s retreating figure. She felt so lost and alone. Even Gil Austin hadn’t shown up yet. He was her best friend in Houston, a reporter who’d been doing a feature story on the band she was appearing with when she met him. Gil was a live wire, and he’d taken the shy young singer under his wing, watching over her almost as protectively as Cole. Gil and Cole were even about the same age, Gil thirty, Cole thirty-three. But the resemblance ended there. Gil had fair hair and green eyes, and was always smiling. Cole’s hair was dark, his eyes were gray, and his face resembled deeply tanned stone. His life was the enormous ranch he and Heather’s father had built up together. Big Spur was a showplace, and Cole never tired of it. No woman had ever been able to nudge it to one side long enough to get him to make a commitment. Cole didn’t like ties of any kind.
“There you are!” came a breathless, relieved voice from the doorway.
Gil Austin let the door slide shut again as he came forward, his eyes worried, his fair hair tousled, his habitual smile noticeably missing as he studied the slender young form under the sheets. “Johnson sent me to Miami on a story.” He grimaced, looking wounded. “If I hadn’t been out of town, I’d have known about the accident long before now. I’m sorry, little girl!”
She tried to speak, but the effort was futile. She nodded instead.
He caught her small hand and squeezed it. “Are you hurt bad?”
She shook her head, pointing at her throat, and smiled again.
The nurse came back in with a pad and pen and handed it to Heather, smiling pleasantly at Gil. “Are you her stepbrother?”
Gil shook his head, frowning. “Hasn’t he been notified?”
“Of course.” The nurse nodded. “His name and phone number were in her purse. The attending physician called him from the emergency room. That,” she added with a hasty glance at Heather, “was very early this morning.”
Gil, too, looked at Heather, who was busily scribbling a note on the pad. “Taking his time, isn’t he?” he asked quietly.
The nurse nodded with a sigh. “If you’re through with your dinner, I’ll take it away now. Ring if you need anything.” She smiled at Heather.
Heather smiled back and handed Gil a note explaining how the accident happened and asking if he’d make sure they had notified Cole. “He’d be here if he knew,” she’d written.
Gil frowned at the faith in her bright eyes. He knew how she worshiped Cole Everett. But he also knew how fiery their relationship was, and how much Cole disapproved of his stepsister’s singing career. He wasn’t convinced that Everett might not be teaching her a painful lesson by his absence. The Texas rancher had a reputation for being difficult and temperamental. Gil, who covered the entertainment beat for the paper, had never met him, but he’d heard the business reporters
