Wendy Douglas - Shades Of Gray

“Run…out of town? I—is that what they’re saying?”

“It’s what Frank Edwards and Eliza Bates said.”

“And you believed them,” she said softly, shadows shifting as she straightened.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re right, of course. Why wouldn’t you? I’m sure Frank Edwards has been the epitome of honesty and truth with you. And Eliza Bates is known as the soul of discretion.”

Her observation stung; Edwards had misled him, and Amber knew it. The man had lied—more than once—and about important things, such as Richard’s death and the condition of the ranch. He could have exaggerated the situation with Amber, as well. But why would he?

Then again, why not? Edwards had no reason to do anything that served any purpose but his own, and who knew what the hell that might be? His intentions needn’t be any clearer than anyone else’s around this godforsaken place.

And what about Eliza Bates? She had made a point of approaching him with her hateful gossip. He couldn’t deny that he cared little for her manner or her general outlook. Still, the uncertainties rankled.

“You, on the other hand, have been so very forthcoming in all of our conversations,” he pointed out, making no effort to disguise his sarcasm.

A heartbeat of silence passed. “You’re right. Again. I keep expecting you to react as Richard would have…and I continue to be disappointed.”

“I never pretended to be like my—uncle.” He used the title grudgingly. It galled him to call Richard or Jordan by anything but their names; neither deserved more. “You and others here insist on a physical resemblance between us, but that doesn’t necessarily lead to other similarities.”

“My mistake, I assure you. I apologize if it offends you.”

Derek shrugged. “Offense isn’t the word I’d use. I’d have to care to be offended.”

“You don’t care? You have no regrets that Richard died a stranger to you?”

“Regrets?” he asked shortly. She couldn’t begin to imagine. There were days when he thought of little besides the many things he had to regret in this life, but Derek wasn’t about to explain. Not to her, and not now. “It’s difficult to regret what you never knew.”

“I would think that alone would be reason enough. But then, I don’t really know you, do I?”

“No more than I know you,” he agreed.

“I don’t see, then, what else we have to discuss, so I will say good-night.” She reached the front door before he sensed that she’d even begun to move.

Derek reached out and caught her arm just as she entered the house. The fabric of her sleeve was soft to the touch, from wear and many washings, he’d guess, considering the limited wardrobe he’d seen her wear. She had a brown dress and a gray one, both plain cotton. Which had she worn today?

What did it matter? It didn’t, and yet his body felt singularly alive, touching her like this, and he wanted to know. He tightened his fingers around her upper arm, as though the color would imprint itself on his skin, or perhaps to chase away his other, lustful thoughts. It didn’t do either.

She went abruptly still, but she stood her ground, silent and stiff. He couldn’t even hear the sound of her breathing.

“You never answered my question,” he said softly. He loosened his grip, enough to save her from bruising. Even so, the muscles in her arm tensed, as if she were preparing for further confrontation.

“No, I didn’t. And I don’t intend to.”

“No?” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper and allowed disbelief to color his tone. “And why not?”

Amber turned, forcing him to step closer or release his grip. He didn’t let go. “Would you believe me?”

“I…”

“You see? You can’t say for sure, can you? Or if you can, it would be to say no, you wouldn’t believe any defense I could give you.” She tried to move away. “So why put either of us through that?”

He tightened his hold just enough to keep her still. “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

“Do you really think that?” She gave a delicate snort. “Well, let me tell you what I am sure of. I’m sure of all the times I tried to explain myself to people like Frank Edwards and Eliza Bates. If they didn’t believe in me, why ever do you think I would expect you to? Did Frank Edwards tell you he propositioned me?”

Derek’s stomach churned fretfully, but he swallowed and ignored it. “He didn’t mention it.”

“No, I don’t suppose he would. Well, he asked me to become his mistress both before and after I moved to the ranch. And he’s never forgiven me for turning him down.”

“I see.” Derek drew in a deep breath, and along with it the sweet scent of vanilla. It seemed suddenly familiar, and he realized he had begun to associate it with Amber.

“Do you really? Do you understand, then, why I’ve stopped answering questions such as yours?”

“Are you saying, in this roundabout way, that you didn’t try to seduce Eliza Bates’s son-in-law? And you weren’t Richard’s mistress?”

He heard a sharp intake of breath, then nothing. “I’m not saying anything,” she said eventually. “My answer doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? To you or to me?”

“To anyone. Now let me go.” She tugged at her arm.

Derek didn’t release her, but he didn’t tighten his grip, either. “I could argue that I have a right to know.”

Complete and utter silence followed his pronouncement, then Amber jerked her arm back with little care, as though she took serious offense at either his touch or his statement. “What gives you any rights where I’m concerned?” she demanded hotly, and darted into the house.

He stepped inside behind her. “I own the Double F. That makes me responsible for everyone here—including you. It gives me the right to know something about you.”

A soft yellow light flared suddenly and the smell of sulfur tickled his nose. Amber stood across the hall, next to a small table. She dropped the spent match, its tip blackened and shriveled, into a small pottery bowl, then replaced the glass chimney on the flickering lamp and turned to face him.

“I don’t work for you.” She spoke evenly but firmly. “I worked for your uncle and stayed until Richard’s heir arrived. It was part of my obligation to him.”

“And that’s finished now?” He probed her face, the verdant green eyes that shone like emeralds in the golden lamplight, but her expression revealed nothing.

“Nearly so, it seems. You haven’t hired me, and without that, you have no rights where I’m concerned.”

“Do you want to work for me?” The question came from nowhere.

She watched him for several long, silent moments, then finally blinked. “I don’t know.” She nestled her hands together and held them in front of her, against her stomach.

It was the faded gray dress that she wore today, with the round white collar and tiny white buttons down the front. Was she trembling? Surely not. She had defended herself and Richard adamantly, fearlessly, at every turn.

Or was it his stare, intense and relentless? But what other choice did he have? Her crystalline eyes revealed little and saw far too much. And her lips, soft and full, parted just enough to tease him with a hint of white teeth and pink tongue.

“Your position here is secure,” he snapped. It had never occurred to him that she would not remain. “I can’t afford to fire anyone. There aren’t enough of us to work the ranch now. But I expect the same work for the same wages Richard paid. Until we make some improvements and the Double F starts paying for itself, there isn’t money for anything more.”

He paused, waiting, but she didn’t respond. Irritation and relief battled for dominance. Hell, he didn’t need a housekeeper; why didn’t he just fire her?