Free Ryan's Hand by Leila Meacham Page A

had conquered it.
    The thought of Jeth Langston brought shadows to her eyes, and the steward, who had already summed her up as some rich man’s toy, ventured curiously, “Somehow you don’t look like you belong out here. Are you just visiting?”
    “Yes,” Cara replied, giving him a brief smile before turning back to her window. The steward took the hint and moved off down the aisle, wondering about the man rich enough to afford something like that.
    A dry, stiff wind lifted Cara’s blond hair when she stepped off the departure ramp at Midland Air Terminal. There was no amenity of a covered ramp from plane to terminal, and she pulled the warm fur at her neck closer. Quickly she scanned the assembled group of relatives and friends for anyone who might be from La Tierra Conquistada. Subconsciously, Cara realized, she was looking for Jeth. No one nearly that tall or dominating was among the group who waited inside the terminal building. She looked searchingly around, but her gaze was met only by those arrested by her striking appearance.
    He hasn’t sent anyone! she thought in dismay. So this was to be her first taste of what she could expect as Ryan’s whore.
    She went into the small restaurant for a cup of coffee and to plan her next move. There was a car rental service here. Perhaps she would have to rent a car and simply hope that she could prevail upon someone from the ranch to return it. Oh, for her trusty old Volkswagen, she was thinking, just as someone tapped her on the shoulder.
    Cara looked up in surprise. A tall, rangy young man about her age, wearing low-slung jeans, scuffed boots, a sleeveless fleece-lined jacket, and a frowning expression, was regarding her uncertainly. He had a dusty cowboy hat pushed back on his curly blond head. “Yes?” she inquired.
    “You Miss Martin?”
    “Yes, I am. Are you from La Tierra?”
    “Yeah. The boss sent me to pick ya up.”
    “Well, that’s wonderful!” Cara exclaimed, a brilliant smile of relief lighting her eyes.
    The young man looked away, momentarily disconcerted. Cara suspected that the tough-guy pose did not come naturally and was being worn for her benefit. Orders from headquarters, she surmised with a flash of temper.
    “Let’s go, then,” he said gruffly.
    “There are a couple of things that I must do first—”
    The young man dug his heels into the carpet, thrust fingertips into tight jean pockets, and surveyed her with disapproval. “Like whut?”
    “Paying my check for one thing,” she said pleasantly. “And then I have to pick up my luggage. After that, I have to go to the air freight office to collect the boxes that I sent from Boston.”
    “That take long?”
    “No-o-o.” Cara’s eyes rounded innocently. “Not nearly as long as it would take to make a return trip here and back.”
    “Well…” The young cowboy thought this over. “I guess it’s all right. But I have strict orders from the boss to pick ya up and head right on back to the ranch. This is roundup time, ya know.”
    “No, I didn’t know,” Cara said congenially, fishing in her bag for money. She indicated her bags. “Would you mind getting those while I pay the check?”
    The young man picked up Cara’s weekender and cosmetic case. “My name is Cara,” she said, taking the cosmetic case from him as they were heading for the luggage pickup.
    “Mine’s Bill, but I don’t think we oughta get too friendly, miss. Let’s just get what ya got to get and quit the jawin’.”
    Stung, Cara remained silent while the luggage was collected. Bill’s only words were, “The jeep is out here.”
    “Jeep?” she cried, following him out to an immaculately painted light-gray jeep with the name of the ranch in small yellow letters on its side. The wind was beginning to pick up. Cara’s ears already felt cold, and she did not relish a ride in an open vehicle. She was glad that she’d remembered to tuck a light wool scarf into her handbag.
    All his attention on the road,