Читать книгу The Rancher And The City Girl - Kathy Douglass - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Camille looked around the kitchen as she sipped the chicken and rice soup. Spacious and up-to-date, the room still managed to remain in keeping with the rest of the farmhouse. The pink-and-green-flowered curtains and matching canisters on the soapstone countertops reminded her that Jericho may live alone now but there had been a woman here. Jeanette.

Camille closed her eyes on a wave of guilt. Had she really turned her back on her best friend simply because she’d fallen in love? True, Jeanette had broken Rodney’s heart, but she hadn’t meant to. She’d let him down as easily as she could. Yet Camille had refused to forgive her friend. She’d rejected every one of Jeanette’s overtures. Now Jeanette was gone and Camille would never be able to make things right between them.

Sorrow and regret filled her, turning her stomach. She put down her spoon, her appetite gone. The irony of her present situation didn’t escape her. She’d forced Jeanette out of her life because she’d chosen Jericho over Rodney, and now Camille was forcing herself into Jericho’s life. He was letting her stay only because of Jeanette.

“Is something wrong with the soup?” Jericho asked, his voice hard. It was as if he was waiting for her to complain. Was he looking for an excuse to throw her out? There was no way she would give him one.

She squelched a sigh, swallowed more soup, then looked at her reluctant host. “No. It’s delicious. It tastes too good to have come from a can.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “A friend of mine is a chef.”

Male or female? For some insane reason the thought of another woman bustling around this kitchen disturbed her. She shoved that feeling, whatever it was, aside. She was a guest here. Her welcome was tenuous at best. She didn’t have the right to start asking questions about Jericho’s life. Still a part of her was curious about the man her friend had fallen so hard for. What was it about him that had been so appealing that it had caused Jeanette to break off her engagement to Camille’s brother?

One thing Camille now knew: Jericho was dependable. He might not like her—heck, he hated her—but he’d been willing to provide her with a safe haven. More than that, he hadn’t asked for a thing in return. True, he viewed it as repaying a debt, but if there was a debt, it wasn’t his to pay.

Her spoon clanked against the bowl, and she realized she’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t been aware she’d been eating.

“More?” Jericho asked.

She shook her head, then caught herself. Hadn’t her mother drilled into her the proper way to respond to a question? She must be even more tired than she thought. The soft light and the warmth of the room had lulled her into a calm she hadn’t felt since she’d first discovered the criminal activity at her firm. “No, thank you.”

She wiped her mouth with her napkin and pushed away from the table. Grabbing her bowl, she stood, intending to wash her dishes in the ceramic farm sink beneath the large window. Even from across the room she could see the sink was empty; she didn’t want to leave a mess for Jericho to clean up later. Nor did she want to leave him with the impression that she was the spoiled rich girl he thought she was.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, taking her bowl from her.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.” His tone ended all discussion.

“Thanks.” She waited quietly as he washed her dishes, wiped them dry and placed them in the cabinet beside the sink.

He leaned against the counter and stared at her. For all his concern about feeding her, his eyes were remarkably cold, his voice remote. “I’ll show you where you can bunk while you’re here.”

Bunk. A cowboy word. Not a word she was used to hearing on Wall Street. It had a nice ring to it. Soothing. It conjured up images of honorable men on the range who would ensure no harm came to anyone. Hopefully, this horse ranch in North Carolina and its owner could provide the protection she needed until the danger passed. And it had to pass, didn’t it? She forced that worry away. She was safe for now, and that was what she would focus on.

Camille followed Jericho through a narrow hall and up a flight of stairs. A gray and burgundy runner centered on the old oak risers muffled their footsteps. The house wasn’t as large as the Chicago Gold Coast mansion where she’d grown up, but it was a good size and quite cozy. Jericho led her past a closed door and paused briefly before a second.

He opened the door a few inches. “This is the guest bathroom.”

She caught a glimpse of a white pedestal sink before he closed the door.

He opened a door farther down the hall, and she hurried to catch up with him. “Linen closet.” He pulled out towels, folded sheets and two blankets, then handed them to her before shutting the door with a definite click. What? Did he think she would steal his linen?

He crossed the hall and opened another door but didn’t step inside. “You’ll be sleeping here. This is the only bed you’re welcome in.”

She gasped, and her cheeks heated with remembered embarrassment. Before she could think up a suitable reply, he’d vanished back down the hall. She heard the stairs creak under his feet, and a minute later a door slammed.

Truthfully there was nothing she could say to justify her behavior all those years ago. She had bribed her way into his hotel room and gotten into his bed. Not one of her proudest moments. She hadn’t actually planned to seduce him. She just wanted to prove to Jeanette that Jericho wasn’t the man he claimed to be so Jeanette would return to Rodney and things would get back to the way they were supposed to be. She’d expected Jericho to take her up on her offer. Then she would be able to tell Jeanette what he’d been willing to do.

She’d been wrong. Jericho had taken one look at her, his face twisted with disgust, and left the room. She’d waited for Jeanette to confront her about her behavior, but she never had. Apparently Jericho had never told Jeanette about the incident. That one horrible secret had weighed Camille down for years and was one of the reasons she’d worried Jericho would turn her away.

Physically and mentally exhausted, and sick and tired of the thoughts that continuously circled her mind, Camille removed her shoes and dropped onto the bare mattress. It was firm and cool and seemed to wrap her with comfort. She’d put on the sheets in a minute. She just needed to close her eyes for a bit and block out everything.

After a while, she forced herself to get up before she fell into a deep sleep. She grabbed her towels and crept to the bathroom. When she found a new toothbrush and toothpaste inside the mirrored medicine cabinet, she nearly shouted for joy. It seemed an eternity since she’d performed her simple grooming routine.

She had a brief internal debate, then concluded that she could not possibly wear her underwear a third straight day. Two days in a row was bad enough. Slipping off her panties and bra, she washed them by hand and left them on the side of the tub to dry. She’d slept in her clothes last night, and it looked like she would be doing the same again since she didn’t think Jericho would lend her a T-shirt to sleep in. She was lucky he was letting her stay in his house. She wouldn’t push it by asking for some of his clothes. The idea of wearing something that belonged to him seemed too intimate anyway, so she couldn’t summon the nerve to ask him. Still, she was relieved to know she didn’t have to be ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She was safe. That had to count for something.

* * *

Jericho closed the shed door, then walked across the yard to the barn, Shadow circling his heels. The dog had been a surprise birthday present from Jeanette. Her last gift to him. The pesky dog provided the only type of companionship Jericho wanted even if Shadow couldn’t follow the simplest command.

Shadow didn’t make subtle hints about getting on with his life or give unsolicited advice. The dog didn’t presume to know what Jeanette would have wanted for him. The dog simply let Jericho be himself, feeling—or as the case may be, not feeling—whatever he wanted.

Jericho went to each stall, checking on the horses. Although he’d settled them for the night before Camille’s sudden appearance, he needed distance from the woman who’d invaded his home, disrupting the solitary life he now preferred.

There was a time when he’d been a people person. He’d enjoyed the company of others and had entertained for both business and pleasure. His house had been the gathering place for his friends and he’d held many an impromptu party. His parents had raised him to seize the day. He’d embraced his father’s mantra: No day is more important than this one. No breath more valuable than the one you are taking. Make each moment count.

He’d done that. He’d wrung every bit of pleasure out of his life. He’d met Jeanette while he’d been visiting his sister in Chicago. One look was all it had taken for him to realize they were made for each other. She’d made him appreciate his life even more. He’d been content before he’d met her, but once they’d married, his joy had known no bounds.

When she died from complications from her pregnancy, she’d taken the best part of him with her. He no longer felt joy with each day and struggled to find value in each breath. He’d be the first to admit that he’d become a hermit. He’d shrunk his business, dismissing all but two ranch hands and limiting his interactions with them to the barest minimum. He’d removed himself from the world, and only the most stubborn of his friends insisted on coming to the ranch. He had managed to survive their occasional intrusions. Somehow he knew he wasn’t going to deal with Camille’s constant presence in the same way.

Turning out the lights, he made his way back to the house. The moon was bright, lighting his way. Not that he needed it. He’d grown up on this piece of land and knew it like the back of his hand. When times had gotten tough, his grandparents had sold off all but the fifteen acres surrounding the house. Over the years, his parents bought back thirty acres. Jericho had worked hard to earn money and had bought back the remaining 340 acres that had been part of the Joneses’ original property. He’d intended to purchase two hundred additional acres last year, but the desire to expand and build upon what had once belonged to his forefathers had died on a clear February morning along with all of his other dreams.

The kitchen was dark, but he didn’t switch on the light. He could still picture Camille sitting at the table sipping her soup despite himself. As a proud woman, she wouldn’t appreciate knowing just how frayed she’d looked. The flight from danger and all the worry had stripped away her haughtiness, leaving her almost humble. No doubt after a good night’s sleep her usual self-centered personality would rear its ugly head.

Not that Camille was ugly. Far from it. With light brown skin, high cheekbones, full lips and hazel eyes, she had a face that was far too beautiful to be considered anything short of remarkable. Of course, she personified the saying about beauty being skin deep. He knew the ugliness that lurked beneath the surface better than anyone. Despite how vulnerable she’d appeared tonight, he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking she’d changed.

He had no intention of turning his life upside down just because she’d dropped in out of nowhere, disturbing his solitude. He was not about to alter one single thing in his life just to suit her. If she thought for a moment that he was going to entertain her, she had another thought coming. In fact, the less he saw of her, the better off he would be.

That settled, he climbed the stairs and went to his lonely bed wondering if tonight would be the night he would finally be able to sleep.

* * *

Camille stretched and yawned, then burrowed deeper into her pillow, pleased that her neighbors had decided to keep down the noise. She smiled and tried to resume her dream before reality hit. She wasn’t in New York; she was on the run for her life. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright, looking around the room. Memories of last night flooded her mind and her heart settled, gradually slowing to a normal beat.

She was safe. Jericho had welcomed her into his home. Welcome might be overstating things, but he had said she could stay, something that had been in doubt for a few harrowing minutes there. What would she do if he changed his mind? She’d taken him by surprise last night and he hadn’t had time to consider his answer. Perhaps having slept on it, he’d decide he didn’t really want her around.

And now that she thought about it, he hadn’t said she could stay until she was safe. He had agreed only to let her spend the night. Perhaps he would press her to leave today. Then what would she do?

She wouldn’t let that happen. She’d just make sure he didn’t change his mind. The ranch was big and no doubt kept him busy. He probably didn’t have time to do everything. Maybe there was something she could do around the house to help him and thereby earn her keep. Some way she could be of value to him.

She flashed back to the first time they’d met at a reception hosted by her father’s law firm to celebrate his being appointed to the federal appellate court. Jericho had tagged along with his sister, who was working at the firm the summer after her second year in law school. He’d been charming and outgoing. Friendly. Then Jeanette had walked into the room. Camille had introduced them and the rest, as the saying went, had been history.

Only the history between her and Jericho had turned bitter. If she didn’t change the way they interacted, she could be out on her ear and searching for another sanctuary. There wasn’t one. If there had been, she would have gone there instead.

She put the pillow against the headboard and then leaned back. It would be easier if she didn’t dislike him so much. He’d swept in and ruined her brother’s engagement without a second thought, then whisked Jeanette halfway across the country. Camille had been the one her heartbroken brother had turned to. She’d never forget the pain she’d felt at seeing her brother in tears. All because of Jericho Jones.

Still, she was at his mercy so she needed to keep her contempt to herself. Surely she could do that. She was discovering previously unknown acting skills. She’d managed to keep her knowledge about Donald Wilcox’s criminal activity from him. She’d been cordial and professional, even enduring business dinners with him. Certainly she could maintain a similar facade with Jericho.

She got up and made up her bed, then opened her door. A quick glance down the hall revealed that the other doors were closed. Was Jericho awake? She crossed the room and checked her watch. Given that it was 7:30 a.m., she imagined he was.

Padding across the wooden floor, she went to the tiny bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then got in the tub, letting the hot water ease the stress from her body. Even though she would have to wear her crumpled skirt and blouse for a third consecutive day, it wouldn’t feel so bad if she was clean. The red silk had been a favorite of hers. She’d splurged on the designer suit and matching pumps two months ago. Now she’d be quite happy to never wear it again. In fact, when this was all over, she would donate it to a women’s shelter.

She dried off and then slipped into her slightly damp underwear. Pulling on her skirt and blouse, she stepped into her shoes. It was too hot for the jacket, and she absolutely refused to wear pantyhose on a ranch or farm or whatever this was.

Her stomach growled. She took a quick look around the bathroom to be sure she hadn’t left anything out of place. The room was small, but she had to admit she preferred the old-fashioned claw-foot tub to the Jacuzzi in her own spa-like bathroom.

She didn’t call out to Jericho, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t in the house. It felt too empty. Although she remembered where the kitchen was, she took a detour. Last night she’d been too nervous and then too relieved to notice much of anything. Now her curiosity got the better of her and she decided to look around.

She entered the living room and slid her finger across an end table, leaving a clean mark in the thin layer of dust. She picked up a framed photo, and her breath caught. It was a picture of Jericho and Jeanette. He was holding Jeanette in his lap as they sat in a tree swing. They were smiling and their eyes were lit with laughter. Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Camille replaced the picture and hurried from the room into the kitchen. She’d ended her friendship with Jeanette, forfeiting the right to know about her life and her marriage.

If she was going to ensure Jericho allowed her to stay, she needed to prove her value to him. There probably wasn’t any use for her skills as a financial wizard, but she could cook and clean for him.

Camille opened the refrigerator and groaned. The pickings were definitely slim. There were half a dozen eggs, a hunk of cheese, a carton of milk and half a bottle of orange juice. She didn’t see how a man the size of Jericho managed on so little food. She rummaged through his pantry and found one onion. A two-egg omelet would be a start, but there was no way he would get full simply eating eggs.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered under her breath. She opened cabinets and canisters to see what she had to work with, finding flour, baking powder and sugar. Homemade pancakes along with the omelet would be a somewhat more substantial breakfast.

Humming to herself, she mixed the ingredients in a large bowl. Though she had always loved cooking, she hadn’t made anything more involved than toast or a microwave meal in years. Being a rising star in the banking world required sacrifice and all of her time. Fortunately, cooking was like riding a bike, but without the sore calves. There was something soothing about pouring the batter onto a sizzling pan and watching golden pancakes materialize.

When they were done, she put the plate containing a dozen midsize pancakes in the oven to keep warm, then headed out the door. Jericho had to be somewhere. Hopefully, he would recognize her peace offering for what it was without her having to tell him.

She walked down the back stairs, surprised to see a brick patio surrounding an in-ground pool and hot tub. She skirted a table and chairs and hurried in the direction of a large building. Shadow was chasing a squirrel across the grass, having great fun. She doubted the squirrel found the game as amusing as he did. When the dog spotted her, he abandoned the squirrel and ran over, wagging his tail a mile a minute.

“Where’s your master?” she asked. The dog cocked his head, barked twice and sat on his haunches. He lifted his paw as if offering to shake. Clearly there was a failure to communicate.

She patted his head briefly. Shadow considered her for a moment, then raced around the yard as if searching for the squirrel so they could continue playing. Although she found the dog’s antics amusing and could have watched him for hours, she was on a mission.

As Camille stepped into the stable, she inhaled the sweet smell of hay mingled with leather and pine. She expected to see horses, but the stalls were empty. Perhaps they were in a pasture or corral or whatever it was called. She needed to learn how to speak country.

She walked down the center aisle that separated the stalls until she reached the back of the building. Jericho was in a small room rubbing soap on a saddle. From the intense way he was scrubbing, she wouldn’t be surprised if he rubbed a hole into the leather. The muscles on his arms bunched and flexed beneath his shirt.

She must have made a sound because he turned and looked up, one eyebrow raised. He stared at her without speaking, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. Instead of flinching the way she wanted, she raised her chin and spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted you to know I made breakfast.”

He grunted, nodded toward a ceramic mug and turned back to his work. “I had coffee.”

“Pancakes. And omelets.” She twisted the hem of her blouse, unsure if she’d made the right decision. Naturally she started to babble, a habit she thought she’d overcome in finishing school. “Well, the pancakes are in the oven staying warm. I haven’t made the eggs yet. But I did grate the cheese and dice the onions. It’ll only take a minute to throw them together.”

He was silent for so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally he looked at her again, his eyes unreadable. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

“I don’t mind,” she rushed to assure him. “I like to cook.”

He frowned, and her heart sank. Obviously she’d said the wrong thing. “I should have said I don’t need you cooking for me.”

She swallowed her hurt. She didn’t like him, so why did it bother her that he didn’t like her either? She’d never been the sensitive type. Apparently the stress of the situation was getting to her. “Okay. But since I already have, maybe you can eat this time? I would hate for good food to go to waste.”

He stared at her so long it took monumental effort not to squirm. “Fine. This time.”

She felt his eyes on her as he followed her to the house. Part of her wished she could throw away the food, but she’d been raised to know that wasting anything was sinful.

She cooked the omelets, pleased that she hadn’t lost her ability to make them perfectly. After he washed his hands, he removed the platter of pancakes from the oven. He placed half on her plate and the other half on his own. She added the omelets, poured juice and joined him at the table.

“There’s only butter. I couldn’t find syrup.”

“Don’t have any.” He cut his pancakes with the side of his fork. “I guess you’ll have to make do, something new for a spoiled rich kid like you.”

She swallowed the snarky reply on her lips. She wasn’t going to fight with him so he would have an excuse to put her out. Besides, she’d been insulted before. She’d endured slights both subtle and blatant. Women didn’t make it to the top of her male-dominated field if they were shrinking violets. Most men resented her brains and her success. She’d shot down those she could and ignored those she couldn’t.

She tucked into her breakfast, pleased to see that he was eating his without further comment. Now that she had a closer look at him, she realized he’d lost weight. He was still muscular and no doubt strong, but he could stand to put on a few pounds. Perhaps grief had stolen his appetite. Or maybe he didn’t like to cook.

He’d told her he didn’t need her to cook for him, but maybe he’d said that only because he was annoyed that she’d disturbed him. He certainly seemed to be enjoying his breakfast. Or maybe later on he planned to accuse her of being a pampered princess. Whatever, she wasn’t going to give him an excuse to kick her out. She’d pull her weight while she was here.

They finished the meal in silence. When he’d eaten the last bit of eggs, he carried his dishes to the sink, gave her one last glance and left without saying a word.

She heaved a heavy sigh. At least he hadn’t told her to leave.