Читать книгу The Morning-After Proposal - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 7

At bedtime, Dylan went half-mad. He wasn’t tired. Fresh from the shower, he was as wired as a tail-on-fire tomcat, stalking the motel room in his sweats.

He dragged a hand through his damp hair. Eight months, he thought. Eight-search-for-Julia months since he’d been with anyone.

He hadn’t deliberately deprived himself. He’d gotten so caught up in her, so consumed in finding her that nothing else mattered.

And now he was suffering for it.

Dylan cursed, using the harshest word that came to mind. He hated feeling this way. If he could purge her from his blood, he would. He didn’t like being enthralled by a woman. This wasn’t his idea of fun.

And neither was taking her to the cemetery.

But he owed her that much. Hell, he owed her more than that. He owed her the truth.

So tell her, he thought. Tell her why the hit man was hired.

And risk losing her this soon? No way. No damn way. He needed more time.

He glanced at the clock and decided to call his cousin. Aaron could blow this for Dylan. Aaron knew too much. But so did everyone else who was involved in the case.

He cursed again, then took action, dialing Aaron’s number. His cousin answered on the third ring.

“I found her,” Dylan said, right after Aaron voiced the customary hello.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You found Julia?”

“Yes. She’s at a horse refuge in Nevada. But she’s coming home with me to see her mother’s grave.”

“Damn. You finally found her. Did you call the FBI?”

“No.” He frowned at the phone. Here it comes.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because she isn’t in danger anymore.”

“They’ll still need to talk to her. They’ll want her to testify.”

“I know.” Dylan was testifying, too. “But I don’t see the point in rushing things. They haven’t even set a trial date.”

“You just don’t want Julia to hear all of the facts. But we keep telling you that what happened to Miriam wasn’t your fault.”

By “we” Aaron meant Dylan’s family. But they were biased. They would never let him take the rap for his mistake. “Don’t patronize me. Let me handle this on my own.”

“And keep information from Julia? You’re treading on dangerous ground.”

“It’s my ground. So stay off of it.”

Aaron lit into him. “I always thought you were a jerk. Even when you were a kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. And if I’m a jerk, so are you. You got married for revenge.”

“I love my wife,” came the defensive reply.

“And I want Julia. So if you ruin this for me, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

“Screw you, Dylan.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He paused, stalked the room again, hit a snag with the cord and nearly dropped the phone.

“Promise me you’ll call the feds,” Aaron said. “Promise me you’ll do the right thing.”

“Fine. I’ll call them.” But he would do it on his own time, at his own pace. Not that he was going to admit that to Aaron.

“Good,” his cousin said. “This isn’t something to play around.”

Dylan’s heart tensed. “I wish I didn’t want her.”

“I guess it’s too late for that. So when is she coming home with you?”

“Tomorrow,” he responded, too damn anxious to see her again.

The moment JJ saw Dylan’s ranch, the horse farm he owned, she struggled with her emotions. The kidnapping site was just miles away.

Was her mother’s grave close by, too? Had Dylan chosen a resting place near his home?

If only her mom were still alive. If only they could work past the destruction.

Dylan turned toward her. “Are you okay?”

She feigned a positive response, wishing he wasn’t so observant. When he glanced away, she looked out the window. The airport limo took them down a long paved driveway leading to a sprawling adobe structure where the desert swerved into what seemed like an endless expanse of acreage.

Dylan’s success was showing. But so were his Native roots. Not that JJ knew anything about his culture. She didn’t even know what tribe he was from.

The car stopped, and once they were standing on the pavement, Dylan took charge of their luggage and paid the driver.

Without speaking, Dylan escorted her inside. She looked around the spacious living room and saw Old Mexico-style furniture, clay-tiled floors and roughly textured walls. Tiered windows curved in a sweeping line. A brick fireplace dominated the center of the room, with wooden crosses, Indian artifacts and brass relics on the mantle.

“Are we alone?” she asked.

“My ranch hands live out back.”

“I was talking about a housekeeper.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like I have a housekeeper?”

She couldn’t help but smile. As beautifully primitive as his custom-built home was, it was ruggedly messy, too. Charmed with cowboy-type clutter. “No, I suppose not.”

“Do you want the job?” he asked.

“You didn’t bring me all this way to clean your house.”

“No. But if I stole you away from Henry, you could be my mistress.” When she widened her eyes, he added, “I don’t see the problem with a woman being a housekeeper and a mistress. That’s the kind of wife I want someday.”

Stunned, she could only stare. What was he? A throwback from the fifties? A young, Stella-screaming Marlon Brando? “Please tell me you didn’t really say that.”

He shrugged, laughed. “You’re so easy to tease, Julia. You fall for everything.”

Because Julia was a fool, she thought. And JJ was learning to know better. “So what kind of wife do you want?”

“I’ll take you,” he said staring her down.

Her breath lodged in her throat.

“It was a joke,” he said.

Was it? She couldn’t tell. Either way, he’d just dropped a stick of dynamite onto her lap. As a little girl she’d secretly planned her wedding. She’d even dressed up in front of the mirror, holding a hand-picked bouquet of her favorite flowers.

Suddenly neither of them spoke. Not a word.

Finally, he defused the dynamite. “Do you want to see your room? Get settled?”

“Yes…please.”

He picked up her bag and escorted her down the hall.

The guest room he offered was decorated with pine furniture and animal-skin accents. A calfskin throw was draped over the headboard of a queen-size bed.

“The bathroom is attached.” He gestured. “Right through that door.”

“Thank you. This is nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He moved closer and reached out to touch her hair, getting personal once again. “Are you going to dye it back to its natural color?”

“No. I’m going to keep being a blonde.” Because Julia had dark hair, she thought. And JJ needed to be different from Julia.

He lifted her chin, looked into her eyes, spoke much too softly.

His voice all but caressed her. “You should stop fighting your identity. You are who you are.”

The woman who still wanted to kiss him, she thought.

But worse yet was the child she used to be. The dreamy little girl standing in front of the mirror, dressed in white and waiting for Prince Charming to sweep her into his arms.

The way Dylan had done on the day he’d rescued her.

Before she leaned into him, before she lost what was left of her sanity, she panicked, clouding desire with death.

“We need to get ready to go to the cemetery,” she said suddenly.

He started, frowned, stepped back. “We can’t. It’s too late. It’ll be dark soon. We’ll have to go tomorrow.”

Trapped, confused, beguiled, she fussed with her suitcase, with the metal latch. Suddenly the airtight container seemed as constricting as a coffin. “Then I need to be alone.”

His frown deepened, striking premature crow’s feet near the corners his eyes. “For how long?”

Forever, she thought. But she told him to check on her in a few hours. After JJ had enough time to control Julia.

And convince her to stop wanting him.

Dylan came for her two hours later, but she’d expected as much. She was ready for him, or so she told herself.

But it was a lie.

“Do you want to have dinner on the patio?” he asked, standing in her doorway in a white T-shirt, slightly frayed jeans and the beautifully crafted belt buckle he favored. “I ordered takeout.”

She accepted his invitation, assuming that his cupboards were bare. That his traditional adobe kitchen, with its copper pots and strings of dried chilies, wasn’t stocked for guests.

JJ followed him outside. He hadn’t done anything special to accommodate her. He’d simply placed the food cartons, the restaurant-style napkins and disposable drinks on a rugged wooden table and turned on the lights. But the scene was breathtaking. His flagstone patio flourished with greenery, with fragrant herbs and night-blooming plants.

“I have a gardener who takes care of all of this,” he said.

“It’s exquisite.”

He smiled, laughed a little. “Exquisite? No one talks like that.”

“I do.” When she was overwhelmed, when something captivated her. “I love being outside.”

“So do I. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I come out here, have a beer and watch the stars.”

“I can hear the horses from here.” The soft whinny of a broodmare, she thought. “That’s nice, too.”

“They make you feel alive, don’t they? I specialize in AQHA, all-around and working cow horses.”

“I’m glad you agreed to help with the fundraiser. Henry was right about your background. It should make a difference.”

“Yeah. Malibu reeks of money.”

“Malibu?” JJ went on alert. “As in California?”

“Didn’t I mention that before?” He opened the food cartons and offered her a Mexican meal, sliding the combination platter in front of her, along with plastic utensils. “That’s where my high-society clients live.”

“The ones who have the parties? No, you didn’t mention that.”

“I guess I must have told Henry.”

“But both of you neglected to tell me? Like a couple of good old boys who forgot about the female in the bunch.”

He chuckled. “Good old boys? I’m only twenty-nine.”

“Don’t get smart. You know what I mean.” She grabbed her drink, used the straw and sucked out a swig. She was only twenty-eight. “Someone should have told me. I thought the parties were here.”

“In this modest little town?”

“Your ranch isn’t modest.”

“No, but it’s not a mansion in Malibu, either. Wait until you see those places. Houses as big as castles, stables that overlook the beach.”

“The beach,” she parroted.

“Yeah. You know…” He grinned, waggled his eyebrows. “The sand, the surf, muscle-bound guys, girls in itty-bitty bikinis.”

“Knock it off.” Now she was nervous about traveling to California with him, about jet setting to such a glamorous location.

He quit smiling, quit goofing around. “You’ll do fine, Julia.”

She scowled at him, hating that he’d tapped into her insecurities. “I’m not Julia,” she shot back, wishing she hadn’t given him permission to keep using her old name.

“You could have fooled me.” He pointed to her food. “Now eat your dinner.”

She glanced at the beef tamale, chile relleno and beans and rice he’d ordered for her. It was her favorite Mexican meal, her favorite combination platter. But he knew that, didn’t he? He knew because it must have come up in his investigation. “Is this from Casa Maria?” she asked, referring to a local restaurant she used to frequent.

He nodded. “See? You’re still Julia. You still like the same food, the same diet cola with extra ice, the same everything.”

She wanted to throw her dinner at him, but she was too darn hungry not to eat it. “Next time I want carne asada.”

“Carne asada gives you indigestion.”

“So do you.” She plowed into the tamale, and he had the gall to laugh. She huffed out a breath. How annoying could he be?

“Did you know that my last name means thunder in Spanish?” he asked.

“Dylan Thunder?” She went after a scoop of rice.

“Dylan Curtis Thunder.”

She liked his name, but she wasn’t about to compliment him. “I guess I’d know that if I’d investigated you.”

He shook his head, indulged in his food. He was eating soft tacos and nachos on the side, with a slew of hot sauce.

Enough to make her mouth burn without even tasting it.

“You need to calm down,” he said. “To relax.”

“And you need to stop telling me what to do. To stop being so aggressive.”

“I can’t change who I am anymore than you can.”

“You can try,” she argued.

“But I don’t want to.” He smiled, cracked a joke. “It’s the warrior in me.”

She decided that he wasn’t far off the mark. “What tribe are you from?” she asked, unable to curb her curiosity.

“White Mountain Apache.” He sat back in his seat, the amber glow from the outdoor lighting casting a soft, shadowy ambience. “My parents are originally from the rez, and I’m a full blood, but I wasn’t raised in an overly traditional way.”

To her, he seemed rooted to his heritage. She’d seen signs of it all over his house. On his person, too. “So do your brother and cousin live close by?” JJ recalled that that they’d been involved in her case.

“They live in L.A. You can meet them when we go to California. Oh, wait. You already know my brother’s fiancé.”

She started. “I do?”

He nodded. “Carrie Lipton. Her parents own the motel where you used to work.”

“Carrie? She was divorced when I knew her, from a man named—”

“Thunder,” Dylan supplied, laughing a little. “That’s what everyone calls my brother. They were married when they were teenagers, divorced for twenty years, and now they’re engaged again.”

“Wow.” She hadn’t made the connection. “What about your parents? Where do they live?”

“About ten miles from here. You can meet them, too.” He sat forward again, shifting in his chair. “Everyone in my family has been worried about you.”