It suggested that not every Corbett was unwelcome, that he’d perhaps withheld judgment in her case.
The moment she registered the impression, she discounted it. The enmity he must surely bear her grandfather and cousin would naturally be conferred on her. She’d be a fool to think otherwise.
Suddenly she was aware that he was sizing her up, that he’d used her momentary distraction to study her. But this time, his gaze dropped from her face and made a slow journey down her work shirt and jeans to her boots. The trip back was much slower.
No man had ever looked at her so thoroughly. Her first impulse was to cover herself, to hide. But she couldn’t seem to move. And she couldn’t keep from making the same long slow inventory of him.
Wes Lansing was easily over six feet tall. He was built like any other vital man who worked a ranch for a living, but somehow, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped and well-muscled seemed an inadequate description. For a woman who rarely took note of the male physiques she worked next to each day, she was oddly compelled to note everything about him.
His face fascinated her. Below his dark, overlong hair, his features were rugged and harshly cut, hawkish and primitive. He might have been a homely man if he’d had less presence and if his face hadn’t been such a strong indicator of male character. His was a blunt, overpowering masculinity that made her feel fragile and feminine. It was a shocking reaction for a woman who’d rarely allowed herself to consider her femininity or to even think of herself in such precise terms.
Wes took his time. Hallie Corbett was a surprise. She was tall and slender, but she had the right amount of feminine charm in all the right places. Too right, if the heat that surged through his groin was a sign. She had a regal dignity, but there was a faint check in the way she held herself that suggested humility. And yet humility wasn’t it.
His gaze returned to her face and he saw the stain of embarrassment on her cheeks. Her long, dark hair was a thick, rich brown, and it was skinned back with a hair tie that smothered whatever lush waves it might have.
But it was her eyes that caught him. Again. They were a rare shade of blue somewhere between warm and cool, but deep, mysterious. And cautious. She was so guarded.
And she was unaware that he felt her unease. She would have hidden it from him if she’d guessed. He sensed that she hid everything. Considering the s.o.b. who’d raised her, he wasn’t surprised.
“You had a reason for coming to Red Thorn?”
His question sent fresh color into her cheeks. She started toward the desk. He noticed she didn’t take one of the wing chairs in front of it, but then, he hadn’t invited her to sit. It was rude of him, but it was also a test. Corbetts comported themselves as high holies born to rule and reign over lesser mortals.
Hallie Corbett stopped in front of the desk. She held a wad of folded papers in her hand—legal ones, from the look of them—and gripped them as if she thought they’d get away from her. It was plain she wouldn’t sit down unless invited.
Her voice was soft, but clear and distinct.
“I came to ask if you’re still interested in the parcel of land on the back corner of the Four C’s.”
Wes was instantly alert. That parcel of land, the site of the original Lansing homestead, had been stolen by the Corbetts in a land swindle and fought over for generations. Blood had been shed on both sides in the ownership dispute. Any number of Corbetts had sworn to never allow a Lansing to reclaim it.
“Is Hank offering it?” Wes was deliberately noncommittal. What interested him now was Hallie’s reaction. Had the quick shadow that crossed her face been a show of panic?
“No, sir.”
Though he was watching her face closely for a clue about why she’d come here and brought up the subject of the homestead, he saw nothing. Her features were now as blank as uncarved stone.
“Since Hank owns Four C’s and he’s not offering it, you and I’ve got nothing to talk about.”
Hallie’s gaze dropped from his. She unfolded the packet of papers. He sensed that the reason her slim, competent fingers were taking care to flatten the creases in the documents was because she was giving herself time to recover from his rebuff. It was also a delay.
She finished with the task and looked over at him. Her voice was the same clear, even and distinct tone that was evidence of how closely she guarded herself.
“You should have all the facts about ownership before you make that decision. I need to know if you want the parcel.”
It was a small showdown. A test of wills. He felt a spark of satisfaction. Hallie Corbett had a backbone behind all that mystery and guarded caution.
“Yes, Ms. Corbett, I’m interested in the parcel. Have a seat and tell me why you think you and I have anything to talk about.”
Hallie handed over the papers. She sat down in the chair and braced her elbows on the chair arms. She laced her fingers together and regarded him steadily as he sat down on the swivel chair behind his desk.
“If you’d read the highlighted section…”
Hallie let her voice trail off. She couldn’t bring herself to say more. The shame she felt was overwhelming suddenly. Why on earth had she ever thought Wes Lansing would marry her? He wasn’t the sort of man who’d ever consider marriage to someone like her, not even to get something he wanted. Unless he valued that land as much as she valued Four C’s, he’d find her situation laughable.
And when he laughed, then perhaps ridiculed her, it would be over. She’d withstand whatever he said or did, then make an escape that would be something only a little less dramatic than running away like a scalded dog. She’d go to Four C’s, pack her things, then indulge in a last farewell.
It could be over by nightfall. She’d get a room in town until Hank’s funeral, then be on her way to a new life far from the shame and pain and loss that were the only legacy she could ever claim here. Her eyes stung and she clenched her teeth together so hard that they hurt, but she’d claw her eyes out before she’d show tears to a Lansing or anyone else.
She focused on Wes’s face as he read the section, waiting for the moment he realized what the clause meant and what she was here to suggest.
While she watched his gaze sweep left to right and drop down line by line, she witnessed his stern expression evolve into harshness. She saw the hint of anger in the way the hard line of his mouth tightened. She’d figured him for a second read through, but his dark gaze shot up and arrowed into hers.
“What the hell kind of Will is this?”
She didn’t answer because she didn’t know what to say. “I’d like to inherit Four C’s, but I can’t meet the conditions. I thought you should be informed. In case—”
She cut herself off. She couldn’t bring herself to actually make the proposal. Suddenly she wanted to be anyplace but here. For once, the shame she was about to earn for herself seemed far more traumatic than losing the Four C’s.
“I hope you’ll pardon me, Mr. Lansing.” She got up and stepped to the desk. “You were right. We have nothing to discuss.”
She put out a hand for the papers. “I’ll
