York, the Renegade: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  “She doesn’t look very docile to me,” Deuce whispered. “I’ve always hated snakes. Slimy bastards.”

  The python didn’t look very docile to York either. The thick muscular coils wrapped about Sierra’s slender body made him feel sick. She didn’t appear frightened, though, and was handling the snake as if it were a fox fur. Maybe there really wasn’t any danger. Lord, he hoped not.

  She was still speaking, but her words were oddly halting, as if she had to think before each one. “Most people think snakes are cold … but it’s … not true.”

  “There’s something wrong with her,” Deuce murmured, staring intently at Sierra’s face. “She’s swaying like a drunken sailor up there.”

  York could see what he meant. Sierra was gazing blindly at the audience, and she seemed unaware of the monstrous snake hugging her. She shook her head as if to clear it.

  “They’re really quite warm,” she went on. “After the show I’ll bring Bathsheba to the edge of the stage and let a few … of you … touch …” Her lids fluttered, then closed entirely. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor.

  “That’s not part of the act,” York muttered as he leaped to his feet. He started down the aisle toward the stage. “She’s fainted, dammit!”

  “Hell’s bells!” a miner in the first row cried. “The python’s constricting!”

  York’s gaze flew to the small limp form on the stage. The python had apparently been startled by the jarring fall and was acting with instinctive defensiveness. It was tightening its body around Sierra’s neck and shoulders, forming a noose.

  “Sierra!” With one leap York was on the stage, his hands tearing at the thick mottled body of the python. “Deuce, help me. I can’t get a grip on the damn thing. Grab the other end.” He could feel the powerful muscles of the snake flexing beneath his tugging hands. Sierra hadn’t stirred since she’d fallen. Were the coils around her throat already asphyxiating her?

  Deuce was pulling at the tail, an expression of extreme revulsion on his face. “Snakes. Lord, I hate snakes. Why couldn’t it have been the knife thrower causing all this bother?”

  They finally managed to pull the python, which was still writhing, off her.

  “What do we do with it now?” Deuce said. “It’s rather like having a tiger by the tail, isn’t it?”

  “Throw it back over there on the far side of the stage.”

  “Gladly.”

  They released the snake, and it slithered over into a corner.

  “Get one of the stagehands to put it back into its basket while I see what damage it’s done.” York didn’t wait to see if his order was carried out, but dropped to his knees beside Sierra. She hadn’t regained consciousness, but she didn’t seem to be having trouble breathing. Perhaps they had freed her from the python before it had done any more than bruise her. The delicate skin of her neck was already marked.

  “Is she all right?” Deuce asked. He was standing beside him, a frown creasing his forehead.

  “How the hell do I know?” York asked huskily. “I don’t think the snake really hurt her, but I can’t be sure. And who knows why she fainted to begin with?” He was gathering her in his arms and standing up as he spoke. “Well, we’re damn well going to find out. Contact the company doctor and have him meet us at the house.”

  “I understand show people like to take care of their own,” Deuce said quietly. “Hadn’t we better try to find Brady in that crowd in the wings before we cart her off the premises?”

  York’s arms tightened protectively around Sierra’s slight body. “He’s had his chance. I’d say he’s done a damn lousy job of taking care of her, wouldn’t you?”

  “Possibly,” Deuce conceded with a slight smile. “I assume this means you’ve changed your mind about the girl not being your business.”

  “Yes.” York turned away. “I’ve changed my mind. Get the doctor on the double.”

  There was a haze of deep red floating over her. Where had she seen that exact shade of red before? It had been very recently, and if she could only pull her thoughts into some sort of order, she was sure she would remember. The haze solidified and transformed itself into a velvet canopy. When she was a little girl, she had always dreamed of having a bed with a canopy, she thought vaguely. She had imagined that sleeping beneath a canopy would be like being held in a loving, protective embrace. There had been times in her childhood when she had been lucky to have any sort of bed at all. More often than not, she’d had to share a pallet on the floor with her sisters.

  “Are you going to look at that canopy all day?” The deep voice was as familiar as the red plush. Her gaze flew to the man sitting in the spindly red Louis XIV chair by the bed.

  Brilliant blue eyes set in the face of a Greek god. York Delaney’s face. She felt no surprise. It seemed perfectly natural to wake up and see this incredibly beautiful human being lounging casually beside her. It was all of a piece with velvet canopies and childhood dreams that had never come true.

  “No,” she said, “I’d rather look at you. You’re much prettier.”

  He made a face. “I wish to heaven you’d quit saying that. I’m not accustomed to people blurting out their appreciation of my physical attributes. It reminds me of the times when I was a kid and tried to find a way to break my nose so the other kids would quit teasing me.”

  He would have been as stunning as a child as he was as an adult, she thought. It must have been difficult for a boy who had the sun-touched glamour of an Apollo to survive among the cruelty of children. She could sympathize. She’d been one of the different ones too. “I’ll try to remember,” she said.

  “Do that.” He leaned forward. “Look, the doctor has pumped you full of sedatives and antibiotics, and he said you’d be a little disoriented when you woke up. I didn’t want you to be frightened.” He placed his hand over hers. It was warm and protective despite its hardness, she thought dreamily. It was rather like the canopy above her. “Do you remember the snake?” he asked.

  She had to concentrate for a moment, but it began to come back to her. “Bathsheba.”

  “When you collapsed, your reptilian friend decided you were the enemy and tried to squeeze you to death. Deuce and I managed to pull her off before you were more than bruised.”

  Sierra frowned. “Is she all right?”

  “Is she all right?” York drew a deep exasperated breath. “I just told you she tried to strangle you, and you’re worried about the snake.”

  “She wouldn’t have meant to strangle me. She’s really very gentle. You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

  He was silent for a moment as if counting to ten. When he spoke, he enunciated every word very carefully. “No, we didn’t hurt her. Perhaps you’ll be more concerned when you see the bruises on your neck and shoulders.”

  “You can’t blame any creature for obeying its instincts.” Her gaze was traveling around the room. “I’m at the Chicken Ranch, aren’t I?”

  “Chicken ranch?”

  “No? I guess that was another bordello.” She rubbed her forehead. “I think I am a little confused.”

  He nodded. “The sedatives. Don’t worry about it. You’re at my place at Hell’s Bluff. The doctor examined you and said you were suffering from severe bronchitis and exhaustion.”

  “Bronchitis? Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said happily.

  “Bronchitis is wonderful?”

  “I was afraid it was pneumonia again. I was hospitalized with it just before I joined the troupe, and I thought I’d never get over it.” Her smile was tremulous, but brilliant. “But it’s only bronchitis.”

  “Which could have slipped into pneumonia with the greatest of ease the way you were pushing yourself.”

  “But it didn’t, and now it won’t. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  He looked at her glowing face and suddenly his expression softened. “Yes, it’s wonderful,” he said gently. “But the doctor says you have to take better care of yourself from now on. Eat balanced meals,
rest more, not drive yourself so hard.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine in a few days. I’m very strong really.” She covered a yawn with her hand. “You’ll see. I’ll bounce right back. I always do.”

  “You’re getting tired. We’ll talk about it again when you wake up.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “All right, whatever you say.” He was right, she thought. She was getting so drowsy, she could hardly keep her eyes open. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I’m used to being alone.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “Are you?” His voice was a little husky. “Well, I’m not. Maybe you won’t mind if I stick around for a while?”

  Her fingers curled around his hand with the confiding affection of a small child. Her eyes closed. “No, I won’t mind. I think I’d like …”

  Bright morning sunshine was streaming through the red velvet curtains. This time when Sierra opened her eyes, there was no haziness. Her mind was bright and alert, and she was definitely dismayed.

  “May I come in?” a voice called. The door opened to reveal Deuce Moran. He was holding a covered tray. “I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “I just woke up.” She scrambled to a sitting position, then looked down apprehensively as the red satin coverlet fell to her waist. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw she was wearing her own faded gray cotton pajamas. At least she was decent. “Your knock must have awakened me.”

  “I figured you would need food more than sleep by this time.” He walked into the room and set the tray on her lap. “Even with all those vitamin shots the doctor has been giving you, I decided enough was enough. You start in on your orange juice and I’ll get you a washcloth to wipe your face. It will make you feel better.” He was gone for only a moment, and instead of handing her the washcloth, wiped her face himself as if she were a child. “There.”

  “Thank you.” She grinned. “This is getting to be a habit. I’ll have to try to be tidier and save you the bother.”

  “No bother.” He tossed the washcloth on the bedside table and sat down in the chair beside the bed. “I’m getting quite used to it.”

  He sounded terribly British at that moment, Sierra thought. “Are you from England?”

  His lips quirked. “Oh, you’ve guessed I’m not a native of this wild and woolly West of yours? Now, I wonder how you figured that out. Berlitz assured me my lazy cowboy drawl was almost perfect.”

  “Just naturally perceptive, I suppose.” She took a bite of toast. “Well, are you?”

  He nodded. “Liverpool, originally, but I regard myself as a citizen of the world.” He made a grandiose gesture with one arm. “Naturally the world is immensely grateful for my condescension.”

  “Do you work for Mr. Delaney?”

  “Everyone in Hell’s Bluff works for York in one way or another. I’m acting as his personal secretary at the moment.”

  “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You’re friends.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “We’re friends.” He smiled. “You are perceptive, Miss Smith.”

  “Sierra. I understand you saved me from strangulation. That fact should surely put an end to any formalities between us.”

  “York saved you. I merely assisted. I detest reptiles.” He grimaced. “If I hadn’t been afraid York would murder me if I didn’t do as he ordered, you might have been uncomfortable for quite a bit longer, or at least until I got up enough nerve to touch the bloody thing.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Don’t doubt it. I’m not the stuff of which heroes are made. Some men are meant to fight dragons; other men are meant to tell the tale. York is the dragon fighter.” He smiled faintly. “Though I’ve never seen him fight one over a helpless maiden before.”

  She looked up swiftly, her fork halting in midair. “I’m not helpless. I’m a little weak at the moment, but there’s no way I’m helpless.”

  “Tell that to York. It takes a bit to get his protective instincts aroused, but once done, it’s like a tidal wave.” He smiled wryly. “Take it from one who knows.”

  “I will tell him.” She put her fork down and started to move the tray aside. “Where is he?”

  “Steady.” Deuce set the tray back on her lap. “Let’s not go off half cocked. He’s down at the mine. He’s been here with you for the last three days and he thought it behooved him to check in.”

  Her eyes widened. “Three days?”

  “The doctor wanted you to rest. He’s been keeping you sedated.”

  She couldn’t believe it. “I’ve been here for three days? What about the troupe?”

  “Gone. Two days ago.”

  She felt swift panic rise within her. “What do you mean, gone? They left me?”

  “They had no choice. York was a bit … irritated with Brady when you collapsed. So irritated that Brady felt compelled to close down immediately after the show and scamper out of town while York was still getting the report on you from the doctor.”

  “But they couldn’t have just left me,” she whispered. “They need me. Did Chester leave a message?”

  “Oh, yes. He sent your clothes and said he would be in touch with you later and give you the troupe’s itinerary.”

  “Later? But what am I going to do now? I don’t have a job.”

  “You’re going to rest, just as the doctor ordered,” Deuce said gently. “You needn’t worry. York will take good care of you.”

  She ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. “What do you mean? I can’t take anything from him. He’s a stranger.” She drew a deep breath. She had to keep calm. “Please tell Mr. Delaney I appreciate his concern, but I don’t accept charity. If you’ll let me know where my clothes are, I’ll get dressed and be on my way.”

  Deuce shook his head. “The doctor said at least a month’s rest before you take on any work. Probably a good deal longer before you resume the marathon you were running with Brady’s outfit. Now, eat your breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He sighed. “Look, love, what difference does it make if you let York support you for a week or so? Do you know just how rich the Delaney brothers are?”

  How could anyone in Arizona help knowing? she wondered. The Delaney dynasty had been a legend for generations, involved in mining, ranching, and far-flung business enterprises. You couldn’t drive down a street in Tucson without seeing the Shamrock logo stamped on trucks and buildings, or open a newspaper without finding references to fabulous Killara—the Delaney homestead—or the famous Shamrock Horse Ranch.

  How long, Sierra asked herself, had she known about the Shamrock logo and the Delaney dynasty? The dynasty, she knew, had been founded in the early eighteen hundreds by a colorful Irish immigrant, Shamus Delaney, who had begat generations of equally colorful descendants. And Sierra was well aware of how rich they were, for the activities of the Shamrock Trinity, the last three surviving members of the dynasty—Burke, York, and Rafe—figured almost as much in the gossip columns as on the financial pages.

  “I know how rich they are,” she said. Her lips tightened. “It doesn’t make any difference. Charity is charity. I earn my way. If I don’t give, I don’t take.”

  “York isn’t going to like this.”

  “You’re damn right, he’s not.” She looked up to see York standing in the doorway. “And he’s not going to put up with this nonsense either.” He jerked his thumb. “Leave us alone, will you, Deuce? I’ll talk to her.”

  Deuce stood up. “I hope you have better luck than I’ve had,” he said as he passed York. “She’s a very stubborn woman.”

  The door closed behind him.

  “Now, let’s get down to cases,” York said. He strode across the room. “I gather you’re balking at staying here and being sensible.”

  “I earn my way,” she repeated, her face clouding mutinously. “It’s very kind of you to—”

  “I’m not kind,” he interrupted. “Nor particularly gentle. And I’m certainly not gallant. I want t
o make that quite clear. When I first saw you, I wanted nothing to do with you because you aroused all sorts of incomprehensible emotions in me. I don’t have any use for those emotions. I like my life exactly as it is. When I’m involved with a woman it’s sex, pure and simple.” The look he gave her was as direct as a saber thrust. “If you’d like to pay me in that particular coin, I’d probably accept it.”

  Her breath stopped in her throat. “Sex?” Her voice was so faint, she was scarcely audible. “You want to have sex with me?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Why are you so surprised? You must have been propositioned before. You’re not a child.”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m not sexy. Why would you want to go to bed with me?”

  He sat down on the bed beside her. “I obviously have very esoteric tastes. I find the idea of making love to you extremely erotic. The first night I saw you, I lay in bed afterward and thought how tiny and fine-boned you were; how tight you’d be and how careful I’d have to be not to hurt you.”

  She gazed up at him with helpless fascination.

  “You have eyes that mirror every emotion,” he went on. “Do you know that? I thought about what they’d reflect when I touched you, moved over you.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “And I thought about how we’d look together when we made love, how white and soft you’d be.” He glanced at her hand lying on the coverlet. “How small and delicate your hand would look as it moved on my thigh and over my—”

  “Stop.” Her hands flew to her flushed cheeks. “You’re … joking. Aren’t you?”

  “Am I?” His expression was totally inscrutable. “What makes you think I’m joking?”

  “Because you’re …” She broke off and fluttered her hand. “And I’m …”

  “Well, you certainly make everything crystal-clear.” He raised his brows. “You don’t want to pay me in that way? Pity. I thought I had the perfect solution.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not a prostitute,” she said absently as her gaze searched his face. “You were kidding, weren’t you? You could have anyone. Why would you want me?”