Читать книгу The Rancher And The City Girl - Kathy Douglass - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Camille washed the dishes, wiped the counters and table, and sat down. Now what?

She’d cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, trying to distract herself from her situation, but it hadn’t worked. No matter how busy her hands were, she couldn’t keep her mind from circling back to her problem. People wanted her dead. Would they change their minds if they couldn’t find her, or would they keep searching? Did the authorities have enough information to arrest Donald Wilcox and his hit men? And how would she find out?

She and Agent Delgado had been communicating by email. In the last one he’d sent, he’d told her not to write to him until he reached out to her. Although he didn’t believe she was in danger, he’d wanted her to lie low. And then he’d been in that car accident. So now what should she do? What could she do? Nothing. She couldn’t lie any lower than she was now.

But she couldn’t just twiddle her thumbs. After a lifetime of being busy, Camille found the quiet and endless hours looming ahead of her a little disconcerting. If she didn’t do something physical she would go out of her mind with worry. She would clean Jericho’s house for him. But how would she manage to do it without studying the pictures or the various knickknacks and dredging up memories?

She searched through the kitchen cabinets until she found all the cleaning supplies she needed. Unwilling to stain her skirt, especially since it was all she had to wear, she tied a towel around her waist and set to work. She started in the front room, waxing the tables, careful to place every picture and lamp where it belonged. Her heart pinched with regret as she wiped the dust off pictures of Jeanette.

Camille had planned to forgive Jeanette and reconcile with her at some vague date in the future. Lately she’d begun to wonder whether there had been anything to forgive. Jeanette hadn’t done anything wrong to Camille. If anything, Camille had been the one in need of forgiveness. But it was too late. Jeanette was gone so Camille couldn’t make things right.

Regrets churning in her stomach, Camille finished cleaning the front room, then moved on to the dining room. Moving with precision, she dusted and wiped every nook and cranny, scrubbing until the room shone. Then she moved to the last room on the first floor, a study. She dusted the bookshelves and then proceeded to the writing desk.

“What are you doing in my office?”

Camille spun around, grabbing the top of a leather chair. She’d never been a particularly nervous person, but the stress of the last couple of days had rattled her until she was jumping at every little thing. She could understand being so hyperalert when she was in danger. But she was safe now.

At least she thought she was. Looking at Jericho made her wonder. Standing inside the door, his muscular arms folded across his equally muscular chest, his eyes narrowed, anger radiated off him in waves that shot across the room and crashed into her. Even though he was so furious he was vibrating, she still couldn’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he was. How masculine. She told herself that her heart lurched in her chest because he’d startled her, but that was only partly true.

He raised an eyebrow, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question so she replied, “Cleaning.”

“Why?”

“I thought I could help you.”

“What gave you the idea I needed or wanted your help?”

Her stomach sank. So much for being thoughtful. While she believed she was showing him how she could make his life better, hoping he’d be less inclined to change his mind about letting her stay here, her actions may have had the opposite effect. He still hadn’t committed to a specific time frame for her stay, which would have given her a little peace of mind. Instead she was left in limbo, wondering if the next words out of his mouth would be the ones she dreaded hearing: get out. Of course now wasn’t the time to try to get him to commit. Not when she was one false move from being tossed out on her ear.

“I...uh.” Her voice faded out as nothing came to mind. At least nothing that wouldn’t sound like criticism of his housekeeping skills.

“I’m sorry if the accommodations at the Double J don’t meet the lofty standards you’re accustomed to,” he said, his lips barely moving. He didn’t raise his voice. Somehow that made his fury even more pronounced. “But you barged in on my life and home, not the other way around.”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to show my appreciation.”

“If you want to show your gratitude, then stay out of my way and out of my office. The less I see of you the better.”

She nodded, too stunned to reply, then walked out of his office, careful not to brush against him.

Cursing under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear, he stormed through the hallway. Seconds later she heard the back door slam. Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. Even though Jericho was gone, her stomach still churned like the Atlantic Ocean during a storm. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back hot tears. Crying never helped.

She heard whining, then felt a wet nose pushing against her hand. Shadow. She knelt and buried her face in the dog’s fur. “I really messed up this time.”

Shadow barked in reply, then swiped his tongue against her cheek. She hugged him once more, then pushed to her feet. She rinsed the mop, emptied the bucket and put the rest of the supplies where she found them. She needed to make herself scarce. Her three-inch heels weren’t ideal for walking on a ranch, but she couldn’t remain in the house.

* * *

Jericho saddled Diablo and rode across the field, the horse’s hooves thundering against the ground. The spirited stallion loved racing, and Jericho gave him the freedom to do so. They shot across the acreage as if the hounds of hell were after them.

No matter how fast they went, Jericho couldn’t outrun the sorrowful look on Camille’s face when he’d lit into her. He knew she was scared and was probably trying to stay busy in order to keep from worrying about the people who wanted to kill her. She was literally running for her life and had come to him. Knowing that he disliked her, that couldn’t have been easy. In fact, that was further proof of just how desperate and frightened she was.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t want her here. He’d told her she could stay. Implied in that statement was the promise that he would make her feel at least marginally welcome.

She was nervous and walking on eggshells and not only because she was in fear for her life. She was uneasy because of him. That idea turned his stomach. He’d never thought he’d see confident Camille as timid as she’d been that morning at breakfast. And he never wanted to see her that way again. He preferred the proud woman. That pride wouldn’t allow her to take from him without giving something in return. He understood that. He was the same way. When he went back to the house, he’d apologize to her.

They might not like each other, but they were going to have to find a way to peacefully coexist. Keeping their interactions to a minimum would be key. And they needed to discuss how long she planned to stay here. Not that he expected her to know for sure. But she had to have some idea when this would be over. They’d both feel better if they could establish how long they were going to be stuck with each other. And they needed to set up some ground rules.

Though he could have used a calmer tone, he was being honest when he said they needed to stay away from each other. Camille’s very presence disturbed him. For the past year and a half he’d sleepwalked through his days. He’d been fine with that. Camille was changing that—changing him—simply by being around.

Her long legs were driving him crazy. He didn’t like noticing her slender curves or the way her breasts rose when she took a deep breath. Watching her nibble on her bottom lip had the potential to send him sailing over the edge of reason.

He’d always known his sexual desire would return one day. He just hadn’t expected Camille Parker to be the one to awaken it. The ferocity also startled him. He wasn’t worried that his emotions would return or that his heart would open to Camille. He’d buried his heart with Jeanette. But still, there was no need to risk it. He couldn’t survive another heartbreak.

After brushing Diablo, leading him to his stall and making sure he had fresh water, Jericho returned to the house. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but he was man enough to admit when he’d done wrong. Camille wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. But hadn’t he practically banned her from the common areas of the house? Regret gnawed at his insides as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The door to the guest room was closed. He knocked softly. No response. He knocked again, this time more loudly. Still she didn’t answer. Now he was the one shut out. Talk about poetic justice. After an internal debate about the propriety of opening her door without her permission, he turned the knob.

“Camille?” He called quietly in case she was asleep. He opened the door an inch and peeked inside. Her perfectly made-up bed was empty. He stepped inside and looked around. There was no sign of her. Surely she wouldn’t have left. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. It wasn’t safe for her to use her credit cards. He’d been too angry to ask if she had cash. He had to find her and bring her back before she put herself in danger. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Cursing himself for being a thoughtless jerk, he raced down the stairs and out the back, crossed the grassy field, then yanked open the door of his shed. Her car remained where he’d parked it. A relieved breath whooshed from his chest. At least she had the good sense not to run away.

He closed and locked the door, then went through the house and to the front porch. Sitting down in one of the two wooden rockers that had been on the far corner of the porch for as long as he could remember, he set the chair in motion. He’d grown up hearing how his grandfather had carved them for his grandmother after she’d caught him talking with her main rival at the high school Christmas dance. After that, she’d ignored him for months. He’d shown up on her birthday with the two rockers and a marriage proposal. The apology gift had worked, and they’d married the week after graduation. Jericho rubbed his hand over the smooth wood that had stood the test of time and three generations of endless rocking and wondered if there was any more magic in the chairs.

The day was bright and sunny, and from his position he could see clear across his property to the road nearly a mile away. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d simply sat here and let the warmth of the day wash over him and take his cares away. He didn’t feel quite at peace, but that was fine. Peace was no longer something he sought or even deserved. Getting through the day without breaking down was enough for him.

Twenty minutes later he heard barking followed by feminine laughter. He scanned the area and watched as Camille and Shadow came into view. She threw a stick and Shadow chased it. A few seconds later the dog ran back to Camille. She reached for the branch, and the dog backed away. Then, treasure clasped firmly in his jaws, the dog ran a short distance away. He dropped the stick, raced back to Camille and sat on his haunches.

Camille laughed and rubbed the dog. “You’re still missing the point. You’re supposed to give the stick to me so I can throw it again.”

Shadow barked, then ran in circles around the yard. Fetch was beyond his mental abilities. Camille went over to the stick and bent to pick it up again. Her skirt tightened over her round bottom, and Jericho’s breath caught in his throat.

She turned and saw him. Even from a distance he noticed the way she stiffened and let the stick slip from her fingers. She continued toward the house slowly. The bubble of joy that had surrounded her mere seconds earlier popped. No doubt about it, she was uncomfortable around him.

He descended the front steps and walked in her direction. Shadow spotted him and raced over, his tail wagging. The dog circled Jericho, and then the traitor raced back to Camille.

She was barefoot and her shoes were dangling from her fingers. The heat must have gotten to her because she’d untucked her blouse and knotted the ends around her waist, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach. His mouth went dry at the sight, and he quickly looked away. He didn’t understand how he could be aroused by a woman he didn’t even like.

“I went for a walk. You didn’t say I couldn’t.” Her chin jutted out defiantly, but the wariness in her eyes belied her confidence.

He’d never heard her sound so uncertain, and guilt smacked him like a fist to his jaw. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Her eyes widened in apparent surprise, making him feel like an even bigger jerk. He didn’t want her to be shocked that he could be courteous.

“Actually, yes. My walk gave me the opportunity to clear my head and think about things. I realize that I owe you an apology. I’m so sorry for barging into your home and overstepping my bounds. I see now how upsetting that can be.”

He raised his hand to stop her. “No. If anyone should apologize it’s me. I was wrong to tear into you like that. You were being thoughtful and I was an ungrateful jerk. Please forgive me.”

She nodded but continued to stare at him. Clearly there was more she wanted to say, but she was unsure whether to take the risk. Having another person around was going to be a lot harder than he thought. “You have something to say?”

“About dinner.” She nibbled on her lip. “I know you don’t want me cooking for you, but you have to eat. I already took something out of the freezer to cook. Before... If you would prefer, we can eat separately.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“But we need to eat.”

“I meant the part about eating separately. We can eat dinner together like we did breakfast.” It had been a stilted, awkward affair he’d hoped never to repeat, but she was in fear for her life. If sharing meals was what it took for her to become more at ease, then that’s what he would do.

No matter how much he hated it.