Читать книгу The Morning-After Proposal - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 6

Dylan waited for Julia to return to the porch, frowning at the landscape, thinking about the uncharacteristic way in which she consumed him.

He’d never been a possessive man, not until he’d stumbled upon her, bound and gagged with barbed wire cuts stinging her skin. Not until he’d freed her from her bonds and she’d reached for him, needing him like no one had ever needed him before.

Dylan would always remember the way she’d grazed his cheek, the way she’d moved her mouth closer to his, the way she’d almost kissed him.

Soft, he thought. Sweetly sensual.

He refused to feel guilty for wanting her, for being affected by her touch. He had something else to feel guilty about, something that was ripping a grenade-size hole in his chest.

Her mother’s murder.

Dylan hadn’t fired the gun, but he’d done something that had triggered the hit. He’d killed Miriam just the same.

But he couldn’t tell Julia. Not now. Not this soon. The truth wouldn’t bring Miriam back. It would only destroy what he intended to salvage with her daughter. The harshly tender, perilously intense connection.

He’d been living with the twisted need to protect Julia, to become part of her, even before her mother had died.

When the screen door creaked, his pulse jerked. Julia came outside and he stood up to look at her.

She inched forward. She’d put on a suede coat, but she still looked chilled.

And vulnerable.

The roots of her hair were coming in dark, defying the bleach she’d used. He knew she was an outdoorsy girl, but today she seemed lost, the power of the earth, of the trees, of the snow-capped mountains nearly swallowing her whole.

“Henry told me that I should go to Arizona with you,” she said. “So I’m going.”

Would he be able to purge his sin by taking Julia to her mother’s grave? Would kneeing beside her in the aftermath of murder free him? “I’m glad Henry sees things my way.”

“I have a feeling people always see things your way.”

He frowned. “You don’t.”

“I never expected to run into you again. And certainly not like this.” She slipped her hands into her pockets, burrowing into the lining of her coat.

He held her gaze. “So you tried to forget about me?”

“I tried to forget everything that happened.”

“But you couldn’t, could you, Julia?”

“No. Not completely. And please stop calling me that. I’m JJ, whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t like it, not one bit. She was pulling away from him already, not giving him a chance. “You’re attracted to me,” he said, refusing to let her deny the heat between them. “The way I’m into you.”

Rattled, she glanced away, fighting whatever she was feeling. He could see the struggle.

“You saved me from a dangerous situation,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “We both got caught up in that.”

He had another theory. “If we’d met under different circumstances, we’d still be attracted to each other. It would still be there.”

“Like some sort of cosmic energy?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe in fate. I think people create their own destiny.”

Dylan wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t. He’d gotten her mother killed. He’d created a tragedy that shouldn’t have happened.

“We should try to get a plane out of here tomorrow,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ll book the flight.”

She took a step back. “Why do we have to leave so soon?”

“What point is there in waiting? We both need to face this.”

“Both?” She made a curious expression. “What do you need to face?”

He fought the guilt. “Nothing.”

“Where am I supposed to stay when I’m in Arizona?” she asked.

“I have a guest room at my house. You can stay there.”

She wet her lips, as though her mouth had gone dry. “I keep telling myself that I’m supposed to trust you. That there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I would never hurt you.” He thought about Miriam’s murder and felt his lungs constrict. “Not purposely.”

“I know.” She inhaled a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. Then she shivered, rubbing her arms, even though they were covered in suede. “You let me cry in your arms.”

“We should go inside,” he said, the twisted need to protect her coming back. “You should get warmed up.”

She didn’t respond. He didn’t speak again, either.

He opened the screen door for her, and they entered the house.

Their silence bedeviling the air.

JJ fixed lunch. After being alone with Dylan, she needed something to do, something to keep her mind off of their intimate conversation.

While French onion soup simmered, she set the table, an old chrome and Formica booth that Henry and his wife had purchased from a bankrupt diner and reupholstered in a pretty fabric.

As she reached for the everyday china, white with tiny blue flowers, she thought about Henry’s widow. Her name was Lois and her recipe box was still on the counter. JJ used it regularly. In some odd way she felt closer to Lois, a woman she’d never even met, than she did her own mother. The thought made her teary-eyed. At this point, she would do anything to have her mom back, to start their relationship over.

Finally the meal was ready. She told herself to relax and call the men for lunch. Dylan was still here, still making her nerves jangle. Henry was giving him a quick tour of the refuge, probably trying to convince him to get involved in the fundraiser.

She used a hand-held radio, a common communication system on ranches, to tell Henry to come inside and bring their guest.

When they arrived, Dylan smiled at her, a barely-there tilt of his lips, and her knees went girlishly weak.

“This looks good,” he said.

“Thanks.” She met his gaze, memories drifting in and out of her mind. His touch, his scent, the kiss that never happened.

After a beat of silence, Henry interrupted. “We can wash up at the sink.”

By the time they sat down to eat, JJ couldn’t think clearly. Dylan was beside her in the booth, his shoulder nearly brushing hers.

Henry devoured his soup, where thick slices of toasted bread and melted cheese had been placed on top. Dylan seemed to enjoy his, too. Along with the ham sandwiches and Caesar salad she’d prepared.

“Henry asked me to help with the fundraiser,” Dylan said.

“We could use someone with his background,” the older cowboy added.

She turned to her boss. “I knew you’d talk him into it.”

“It didn’t take much talking. He’s happy to help. I told ya he was a good one.”

“Yes, you did.” She sent Henry a brave smile. She wasn’t about to spoil this for him. If Dylan’s participation in the fundraiser could keep the Rocking Horse afloat, then she who was she to complain?

“I owe this to Henry,” Dylan said. “I misrepresented myself when I first arrived. You know, using the fundraiser as an excuse to see if you were here.”

She speared a lettuce leaf. “Did you misrepresent yourself at other ranches, too?”

“Yes, but none of them are non-profit organizations. When I called them and set up phony meetings to discuss training their horses or conducting clinics or demonstrations, it wasn’t for charity.”

“How many other ranches did you search?” she asked, unable to quell her curiosity.

“I couldn’t begin to count.” He paused, studied her. “I’ve been all over this state. The FBI said you were probably hiding out on a horse farm in Nevada, working as a housekeeper.”

“Because I used to be a maid at a motel?”

He nodded. “And because you like horses. They figured you’d be drawn to a ranch setting. They did a profile on you.”

“Like on TV?” Henry seemed impressed. “I’m surprised they didn’t flash JJ’s picture on that missing person show.”

She was glad they hadn’t. She’d been bombarded with publicity right after the kidnapping, at least in her hometown. Dylan hadn’t made the papers, though. He’d been reported as “the private citizen” who’d found her.

And now, eight months later, he’d found her again.

Like fate? Like destiny?

No, she thought. She’d already told Dylan that she didn’t believe in those things. She used to, when she was Julia. But JJ was trying to be stronger than Julia. She was trying to rule her own life.

Henry reached for his sandwich. “I figured you young folks could work together on the fundraiser.”

Her pulse spiked. “Dylan and I?”

“Dylan has lots of rich acquaintances. The highfalutin horsey set who invite him to their parties and such.”

JJ shook her head. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

Dylan spoke up. “I’d like you to attend some of those parties with me, to charm these people into making sizable donations or bidding on the horses you’ll have up for adoption.”

“It’s a win-win situation,” Henry put in. “Either way, The Rocking Horse comes out on top.”

“It’s a great idea.” JJ’s nerves cranked up a notch. “But I’m not really the party type. Dylan would probably fare better without me.”

Henry disagreed. “Someone should be with him who represents the refuge. Besides, you’ve been cooped up here for months, hiding from the world. A couple of parties will do you good.”

Would it?

She glanced at Henry and he smiled, boosting her confidence. He was right. JJ, the woman she was becoming, needed to break free, to live a less sheltered life.

“You better introduce me as JJ,” she told Dylan.

He frowned a little. “What are you talking about?”

“At those parties.”

He didn’t respond, but she was glad she’d made her point. That she was fighting for her rights.

After the meal ended, Dylan returned to his motel room in town. But before he left, he asked JJ to walk him outside.

She got her coat, and they stood on the porch once again, with the breeze blowing bitterly around them.

“I’ll call you later,” he said. “To give you our flight itinerary.”

“That’s fine.” She tried to keep their conversation light. “Henry seems thrilled that you’re helping with the fundraiser and that I agreed to attend the parties.”

“Maybe so. But I’m not introducing you as JJ.”

She held her ground. “Yes, you are.”

The wind kicked up a notch, rustling his jacket. “No, I’m not.” He moved a little closer, scowled at her. “Being around you is so damn frustrating. Why can’t you—” He stalled, traced the battered porch rail, running his hand back and forth, caressing the wood, nearly catching a splinter.

She sucked in a much-needed breath. “Why can’t I what?”

“Behave like the girl I remember.” He trapped her gaze. “The girl who almost kissed me.”

Oh, God. Somewhere in the pit of her captive soul, she wanted to explore the knotted chemistry between them, to rekindle the moment their mouths had almost met.

But she wouldn’t dare. Not while she was on the verge of going home with him.

Her voice betrayed her. “I’m not Julia anymore.”

“Aren’t you?”

She didn’t reply, and he walked away without saying goodbye, without clearing the air. She watched him leave, wondering how long it would take for him to call.

After he was gone, she returned to the house, the forbidden kiss still lingering in her mind.

Hours passed, dragging with each tick of the clock. By the time the phone rang, JJ nearly jumped to answer it. Then she took a moment to calm her nerves. If it was Dylan, which she assumed it was, she didn’t want him to know she’d been waiting for him.

She picked it up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Julia?” It was him, being headstrong as ever.

Irritation hit her hard and quick. Waiting for his call had been a mistake. She decided not to respond.

“Julia?” he said again. “I know damn well you’re there.”

She glanced out her window and saw the wind snag a branch on a barren fruit tree. Two could play at his game. “Maybe I should start calling you Darrin or something.”

He chuckled. “Like the husband in Bewitched? Are you trying to make a married man out of me?”

Heaven’s no, she thought. He would make a lousy husband. He wouldn’t even be able to get his wife’s name right. “Okay. Fine. I’ll call you Bob instead.”

“I get it. Bob Dylan.” This time he didn’t chuckle. His voice was strong, silky, richly masculine. “I like his music. His lyrics.” He paused, released an audible breath. “I’ve always been fascinated by the lady who is supposed to lay across his big brass bed.”

Her pulse panicked, quickened, jumped to her throat. That song never failed to give her chills. Romantic, sexy, poetic chills. “Never mind. Call me Julia. Do whatever the hell you want.” She frowned, considered hanging up on him. “You will anyway.”

“You’re right, I will.” His tone didn’t change; his voice remained strong and silky. “I have one, you know.”

Dare she ask? “Have one what?”

“A big brass bed.”

Sakes alive. JJ was in bed now, curled up in the predusk hours, wearing pink sweats and fuzzy socks. On the nightstand was a cup of herbal tea. Henry’s dog, a sweet old bloodhound, napped beside her. “I’m not going to be her.”

“Her who?” he asked, although she suspected that he knew.

“The lady in Dylan’s big brass bed.”

“Not his, no. But mine, yes. At least in my dreams. I already told you that I was into you, Julia.”

She was into him too, but she shouldn’t be. “You’ll just have to keep dreaming.”

“I’ve been doing that for eight months.” He shifted or moved or did something that rustled the phone. “I haven’t had a lover since then.”

She went silent. Completely still. She didn’t know what to say, how to feel, how to react.

“Did you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes.” She regained her senses. Or she tried to. Her head was still reeling. “I’ll bet that’s a record for you.”

He didn’t comment on his record. Instead, he pried into her sex life. “Has it been a long time for you, too? Or is there someone I should be jealous of?”

She looked at the dog, then ruffled his ears. He opened his droopy eyes and yawned at her. “Craig is in bed with me now.”

Dylan laughed. “I already met Henry’s dog. That lazy old hound doesn’t count.”

She laughed, too. Then they both fell silent.

“It’s going to happen,” he said suddenly.

Her heart nearly blasted its way out of her chest. She knew he meant the kiss. “Not if I don’t let it.”

“You will. Sooner or later you will.”

Struggling for control, she changed the subject. “So, what’s the deal with our trip? Did you book the flight?”

He didn’t respond. Instead he left her hanging, the intimacy he’d created hovering in the air.

She waited, her heart still pounding.

“Yes,” he finally said. “I took care of it. We leave tomorrow around three. I’ll pick you up around eleven-thirty. That’ll give us plenty of time to get to the airport and go through the security check and all that.”

“I’ll pay you back when I can,” she said, grateful the tension had passed.

“What for?” he asked.

“The flight.”

“I don’t mind. I’d rather pay your way.”

“I appreciate your generosity, but I don’t want to be indebted to you. Not anymore than I already am.” She could only imagine what her mother’s burial had cost. But she would find a way to reimburse him for that, too. Even if it took years.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dylan.”

“Yeah. But I’ll see you tonight, too,” he said, ending the call as roughly as it had begun.

Stonewalled, JJ hugged the phone, the empty dial tone, to her chest. He’d done it again. He’d gotten in the last word, the last romantic thought.

He would see her tonight.

In the fantasy of his mind.