This time he wasnt having it all his own way. The fact that he was the chief stockholder in the Kincaid Corporation was irrelevant. Even the fact that she was madly in love with him was irrelevant. He wasnt going to get away with telling her how to live her life.
She spotted movement down on the soggy river flats, where a few red-coated, white-faced Herefords were mired in mud, and she smiled coldly. She saw only a couple of his men, and that was just as well; she didnt really want an audience.
Her heartbeats quickened as she coaxed the little mare into a canter and felt the breeze tossing her straight thick dark hair in the wind. She looked good in her jodhpurs and in her neat little blue-checked shirt that left her brown arms bare, but it hadnt been for Matthews sake that shed dressed so neatly. Matthew wouldnt notice if she did a Lady Godiva unless she scared his precious cattle. He was immune to women, she thought. Freedom was an obsession with Matt. Hed said often enough that the woman hadnt been born who could get him in front of a minister.
Catherine had thought about that. Shed thought about making love to Matt, about feeling his hard sensuous mouth on her own. Shed daydreamed for years about it, about marrying him and living on Comanche Flats forever. But shed learned over the years to keep her deeper longings to herself. Matt helped by ignoring her occasional stray glance that lingered too long and the quickening of her breath when he came close. Shed dated at college and had brought some of the boys home. To Bettys frank astonishment, Matt had given them a thorough grilling, every one, and hed set the rules about when Catherine had to be in. It was another of the domineering traits shed once taken for granted and now resented bitterly. Matt would never want her the way a man wanted a woman. But he had control of her life, and he liked that.
At last she saw him. He was kneeling to examine a hoof of one of the cows. His dark hair was concealed by the wide brim of his hat, and he looked almost like one of the cowboys in his faded denims and chambray shirt and worn boots. But when he stood up, all comparison ended. Matt had the kind of physique that turned up once in a blue moon outside motion pictures. His broad shoulders rippled with muscle, and his lithe body had a sensual rhythm that held womens eyes when he moved. He was long and lean and darkly tanned, and he had eyes so black that they looked like coal. His nose had been broken once or twice and looked it, and his mouth had a perpetual mocking twist that could put Catherines back up in seconds.
His cheekbones were high, a legacy of a Comanche ancestor, and he looked as if he needed a shave even when he didnt because the shadow of his beard was so dark. But he was immaculate for a cattleman. His nails were always trimmed and clean, and he had an arrogant, regal carriage that made Catherine think of the highlander who had come to Texas so many years ago to found the Kincaid line.
The Kincaids had been a political power in this part of the state at one time. Catherine had learned that from listening to Matts mother talk about Jackson Kincaid, her first husband. She was proud of Matts lineage and never let him forget it. The Kincaid Corporation, the remnant of a small empire, was Matts legacy. Evelyn had given shares in it to Great-Uncle Henry, combining both families interests. But it was Matt who held the power, and nobody forgot it.
Matts sharp ears caught the sound of her mounts hooves, and he whirled gracefully. His grim face and dark eyes brightened at the look on her face. He tilted his hat back and propped a boot against the oak tree behind him. He leaned back, watching her with an expression that made her want to hit him.
So there you are, she muttered, fumbling her way out of the saddle.
Honey, youll never learn to be a good rider if you dont listen when I try to teach you things. Thats no way to come down off a horse, he said good-naturedly.
Dont honey me, she said. She went right up to him, glaring at him, hating him, her small hands clenched at her back. Mama told me what youve done. Now you listen to me, Matthew Kincaid. I just grew up, and you can stop trying to put me back in your hip pocket. I wont fit! You gave me those shares when I turned eighteen, and you cant take them away.
His narrow eyebrows arched. Who, me? he asked innocently. Still watching her with amusement, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with maddening carelessness. I didnt take them away, I just had the interest you were drawing reinvested. He grinned wider. Look in the small print, Kit. I retained that right when I signed over the shares to you.
Her eyes lanced into him. What am I going to do to pay my rent in New York, beg on street corners?
I dont remember any discussion about New York, he returned at once.
She hated that smile. She knew it all too well from years past. It meant hed dug in his heels and there wouldnt be any moving him. Well, shed just see about that.