Hawk's Way Collection: Faron And Garth: Hawk's Way: Garth / Hawk's Way: Faron. Joan JohnstonЧитать онлайн книгу.
elusive princess—who else but a princess would he find on King’s Castle land?—wasn’t the least bit impressed.
“Let me go,” she said in a breathless voice. “Please.”
He let go of the bridle but said, “Don’t go. Stay and talk with me.”
She took her lower lip between her teeth. He could see her distress, the struggle to decide. “We’re strangers,” she said at last. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“If we talk, we won’t be strangers for long,” he promised. “Please.”
“I have to go home.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“All right, then. No names. I’ll call you Princess. You can call me…Cowboy.”
He thought he saw the hint of a smile curl her lip, but she flattened it out damn quick. Faron stepped down from his horse and walked around its head to stand at her side. He tipped his Stetson back and smiled up at her. “I’ll help you down.”
He didn’t give her a chance to object. Before she could say anything Faron had got hold of her tiny waist. He could feel the tension in her as he lifted her off the horse. She met his gaze for an instant with frightened eyes before she lowered her lashes, and he realized that she expected him to take advantage of the situation. Maybe he should have dragged her down the length of him. He sure as hell had wanted to bad enough.
She clearly had a body made for loving. She was nearly as tall as he was. Her head came all the way to his chin, which was surprising because he was well over six feet. She was wearing a long-sleeved man’s shirt tucked into fitted Levi’s, but both shirt and jeans showed off a figure that was fully feminine. Her boots were well used but expensive, ostrich if he wasn’t mistaken.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping when she glanced up at him again. She had eyes a rare violet color. Her complexion would have earned the envy of a pale pink rose. As he stared at her, stricken by emotions he couldn’t name, he saw her cheeks darken to a redder rose.
“I should go home,” she said. But she sounded less sure about leaving. She was worrying that full lower lip again with pearly white teeth.
Faron slipped her hand through his crooked arm, took the reins of both horses and started walking toward a meadow of spring wildflowers. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Princess?”
He could feel the tension in her, and he kept talking in an attempt to show her he wasn’t a threat to her. At least not yet.
“Tell me about yourself,” he urged.
She eyed him from beneath lowered lashes. “What do you want to know?”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
For the first time, her lips curved in a genuine smile. Sweet and kind of sad. “Three sisters.”
“Older or younger?”
“All younger. You?”
Faron opened his mouth to say two brothers and a sister, then realized he would have to qualify that—half brothers and a half sister. He frowned. Damned if he would. “I’ve got two older brothers and a younger sister.”
He felt her relax almost immediately. Amazing how having a family made him seem less dangerous. Little did she know. His family was about the most unruly bunch he knew. “What are you doing way out here?” he asked.
She looked off into the distance. “Running from my problems.”
He was tempted to make a flippant retort, but her honesty spurred him to equal sincerity. “Me, too.”
She looked up at him again from beneath those dark lashes, to see if he was telling the truth. He realized she hadn’t once looked at him directly and figured she must be used to hiding her feelings. But from whom? And why?
His lips twisted wryly. “Seems like we do have something in common, Princess. How ’bout if we run off together and leave our problems behind?”
“I can’t—”
“Just for the afternoon,” he urged. “What do you say? Let’s throw our cares to the four winds and enjoy this afternoon together.”
He felt her hand tremble where it lay on his forearm. She withdrew it and clasped her hands together in front of her. He could see she was tempted. He wished he knew what to say to push her over the brink. Nothing came to mind, so he just smiled.
Belinda knew she was making a mistake even as she nodded her head yes. She had to be crazy. She was truly certifiable. Imagine agreeing to spend the afternoon with a perfect stranger. She recognized the quality of both his horse and saddle, so she knew he was more than just some drifter. He was wearing frayed jeans, but his Western shirt appeared to have been tailored to fit both his broad shoulders and his lean waist.
But who was he? And where had he come from? She had lived so reclusively at The Castle, he might even be a neighbor from one of the outlying spreads for all she knew. “Are you from around here?” she asked.
“Just passing through.”
That was some comfort. “What brings you here?”
He looked off across the prairie. “Just taking a look around. How about you? You live around here?”
She nodded. “Around.” She wasn’t about to be any more specific than he had been. It was safer that way.
Apparently the Cowboy gave her evasive answer a different meaning because he grinned and said, “So you’re trespassing, too?”
“What?”
“Trespassing. On Wayne Prescott’s land.”
“Oh.” Belinda knew she ought to correct his mistaken impression, but that would mean admitting she was Wayne Prescott’s widow. Which would mean an abrupt end to her afternoon with the Cowboy. She wanted—needed—to forget who she was for a little while. So she said nothing.
Faron took her revealing blush as an admission of equal guilt. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you get into trouble.” After all, he owned half the place. If that bitch stepmother of his tried to make trouble, well, he would handle her. He pulled off his worn leather gloves and tucked them in his belt. Then he held out his hand to her. “I feel like walking some more. Will you join me?”
His smile made the invitation irresistible. Belinda’s heart was doing a rat-a-tat-tat that made her want to press her hands to her chest to slow it down. She forcibly relaxed the knotted fingers she had clasped in front of her and reached out to take his hand. It was warm and callused like a working man’s ought to be. It gave her a feeling of strength and security as it closed around her fingers.
At the same time, she looked up into the Cowboy’s unusual gray-green eyes. They were the color of a mountain spruce, wide-set, heavily lashed and crowned with arched brows. There were webbed lines at the corners, etched there by the sun. His nose was straight and angled slightly at the tip, and he had a beauty mark—was it called that when a man had one?—high on his right cheekbone.
She had been terrified when he chased her on horseback, but he had done a good job of allaying her fears. He hadn’t touched her in any except the most gentlemanly way. She had noticed his restraint when he lifted her off her horse. On the other hand, he hadn’t exactly given her a choice of whether she was going to join him on the ground. She felt certain he wasn’t the sort of man to be denied something he wanted.
Nevertheless, she was inclined to accept him at face value. He was an open, friendly and—she would not deny it—handsome man…who knew his way around women. She had been charmed by that ridiculous name he had called her, Princess. And it was telling that he had tagged himself Cowboy, after that chivalrous knight of the Old West.
So what did he really want