by Cindy Dees
But for the moment, he lost himself in it. He let the pleasure roar through him, wiping out thought or reason or caution. His entire existence narrowed down to her. How her eyes glazed over with desire. How her slim, athletic body writhed beneath him in the throes of pleasure. How the cries torn from her throat resonated through his own chest. How the slick glide of her body against his made for unbearably fantastic friction. She stroked his body to a place where he was overwhelmed, stripped bare and flung out of his mind into pure ecstasy.
He threw back his head and closed his eyes, completely lost in the sensations, glutted with lust yet greedy for more. He couldn’t take much more of this. It was too much. Too good.
His entire body clenched and then exploded. He surged into her as everything inside him broke loose. It felt like a raging river had burst through a dam in his mind, annihilating everything else within him with its fury.
He collapsed, exhausted, hanging between his elbows, which were propped on either side of her head. Her chest heaved beneath him, too. They’d had some intense sex in the past, but this... This was a new level altogether.
She totally wrecked him.
It was long minutes before he was able to gather himself enough to press up and away from her. He turned his back and put his clothes to rights. When he finally looked over his shoulder, her clothes were back in place and she was sitting upright, her hands folded primly in her lap. She looked like a teen who’d just gotten caught making out under the bleachers. The mental whiplash was severe. She threw herself into sex with him with wanton abandon and then retreated into this other persona that was polite, cautious and contrite.
Yeah. That probably had been a mistake.
But, hard as he tried, he couldn’t muster any regret over it. Sex with Jessica was like no other sex he’d ever had.
She opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off. “If you apologize again, I’m throwing you out on your ear. Besides, I’m not sorry for that.”
“Good. Then I’m not either.”
He moved over to the raised stone hearth and sat down on it, cautiously placing the coffee table between them. As if that would stop them from tearing off each other’s clothes and crawling all over each other when they lost control the next time. Ha.
No doubt about it. This woman was bad news, although, to be fair, they brought out the absolute worst in each other.
“We need to talk, Jessica.”
Caution danced across her mobile features. “About what?”
“About who was shooting at you. I called the sheriff, and he’s going to try to find out where the shooter was and look for evidence to identify him or her. He’s going to want to talk with you, too. The first thing he’s going to ask is who has a grudge against you.”
“Besides you?” she asked wryly.
He rolled his eyes.
She answered seriously, “The only person I can think of is the guy who drugged me and whom you pummeled.”
That was what he’d figured. Jessica was spoiled and wild, and at her worst she could be a brat, but she wasn’t a hateful person. She didn’t tend to make enemies out of anybody. He asked, “Can you think of anyone, besides that guy, who was obsessed with you? Maybe showed stalker tendencies?”
She was thoughtful for a minute and then shook her head. “Nope. I’ve got nothing.”
“So you really weren’t kidding when you said someone had threatened you—and me,” he commented.
“Uh, no,” she retorted.
“This is nuts. Who would want to hurt you? Who did you tell that you were coming to Montana?”
“Nobody!”
“Surely you told your father.”
“No. Not even him. I just got in my car as if I was going out to run an errand and kept on driving.”
“Did you check your car for a tracking device?”
“Why on earth would I do that?” she responded. “Who would secretly track me? It’s not as if I’m a spy.”
“If someone really was following you, they could easily have planted a tracker on your car.”
To that end, he pulled out his cell phone and gave his cousin, the county sheriff, Joe Westlake, another call on his cousin’s private cell phone.
Joe picked up immediately. “Hey, Wes. Is Jessica okay?”
“She’s rattled, but she’s fine. She’s here with me.”
“Cool. I’ll stop by to interview her when we’re done on scene.”
“Any luck ID’ing the shooter?”
“We found the spot he was shooting from, but he policed all his brass and didn’t leave behind any evidence to speak of.”
“Did any slugs lodge in the car itself?” Wes asked.
“Yup. We’ll at least find out the caliber and type of weapon he was shooting. It appears the shot that took out her tire happened from almost directly behind Jessica.”
“So he was driving behind her?”
“That’s how it looks. Then, once she pulled over to change her tire, he exited his own vehicle and commenced sniping at her,” Joe explained. “I can tell you it appears that one individual did all the shooting.”
“Good to know. Hey, I called to let you know you need to check for a tracking device on Jessica’s car. And not just the undercarriage. You’ll need to fine-tooth comb the car and engine for one. The person who might be after Jess could be sophisticated and have money.”
“Ohh...kay. That sounds ominous. Guess I’ll be doing that interview with your girl sooner rather than later.” Joe hung up, and Wes stared unseeing at his phone.
Your girl? His gut tightened at Jessica being called his girl, but he couldn’t tell if it was a good tightening or a bad one. Either way, it was weird. Even when they’d been dating, he had been worried about what General Blankenship would think of him sleeping with Jessica, and they’d been extremely secretive about their relationship. Indeed, as soon as the Old Man had found out about them, he’d put his foot down and told Wes to end it with his daughter.
By then, Wes had already figured out that Jessica—as amazing a chemistry as they had—was not going to make for a quiet, supportive, conservative military wife. Not that all military wives had to be that way. He would just need a politically correct wife if he planned to climb high in the Pentagon power structure like his boss had. And like his father had expected of him.
Word had it Blankenship’s wife had been from a powerful East Coast fortune built in the defense contracting industry. She might have come from a politically advantageous background, but from what little the general had said of her, Wes gathered she’d been wild and artistic and creative—a lot like Jessica—and had been nothing but trouble for his career.
Of course, by his wife dying young and tragically and leaving him with a small daughter, George had garnered all kinds of sympathy and support. The tragedy had ultimately landed him the job that had catapulted his career from ordinary to the fast track.
All of that was moot, now. Wes had no career to worry about. And he doubted his cattle would care if his wife was a free spirit or not—
“Where did you go just then?” Jessica startled him by asking.
“I was thinking about your mother.”
“My mother! What for?”
“I was thinking about the parallels in your lives.”
“She wasn’t shot. She drowned.”
“True. But, according to your father, you’re a lot like her.”
Jessica shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I barely remember her. And her family had nothing to do with my dad or me after her death.”
“Why is that?”
“I suppose they blame him for taking her away from them and maybe indirectly for her death.”
“That’s pretty harsh. I can’t imagine my parents shunning a grandchild, no matter how much they disliked the remaining parent.”
Jessica shuddered. “I’ve met your parents. I would hate to test that theory.”
He grinned crookedly. “Me, too.” He added, “Joe’s going to stop by here in a little while to talk with you.”
She nodded and then asked him shyly, “Any chance I can go out to the barn and see the new calf again?”
He couldn’t help smiling. “Sure.”
He led her out to the barn and to the stall where Number 19 was resting with her calf. Both were lying down. Mama raised her head briefly and then went back to placidly chewing her cud. The scent of hay and corn and warm cattle surrounded him in familiar comfort. It was peaceful in the calving barn, with a deep quiet that sank into his bones.
Funny how much he’d hated ranching when he was a kid and thought it was the only future available to him. But now, after traveling the world, after seeing war and famine and suffering, the simple goodness of living off the land was starting to appeal to him. Even the idea of putting down roots didn’t scare him as much as it once had.
“The calf is so adorable,” Jessica murmured. “Have you named her yet?”
“Cows don’t have names.”
“Why not? You’re not going to eat her, are you? Your dad explained to me the other night at supper that ranchers keep the heifers to have more calves and grow the herd, and sell off the steers to pay the bills.”
“He’s right about that.” Wes shrugged. “I suppose you can name her if you want to.”
Jessica tried out a half-dozen names and settled on Daisy, declaring it perfect.
He rolled his eyes indulgently. “Fine. Daisy it is.”
Then Jessica surprised him by asking, “Do you have long-term plans for your ranch?”
He actually felt a little embarrassed as he admitted, “Yeah. Get bigger and richer than Runaway Ranch.”
“Daddy issues, much?” she replied, twirling a piece of straw in her fingers.
“Pot calling the kettle black, much?” he retorted.
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Touché. I’ll pit my father against yours anytime for who’s the craziest, though.”
Wes answered seriously, “Your father would win, hands down. Mine is tough as nails and can be a bastard, but he doesn’t have the mean streak yours has.”
Jessica glanced at him, looking surprised. “You saw that side of him, huh? He doesn’t let many people see it.”
“I worked with the man day and night for four years. It was inevitable that he would show his true colors around me. Your father was ruthless in pursuit of his ambitions.”
“Huh. Yeah. That didn’t work out so well for him,” she commented. “He found out last month that he didn’t get the job in the Secretary of Defense’s office he wanted. And he just got passed over for his fourth star.”
Wes hadn’t heard that. Getting passed over for a promotion at that level was the kiss of death for any further advancement in rank for Blankenship. So, the Old Man was going to top out at three stars and not make it all the way to the pinnacle of the food chain? Wes wasn’t sorry to hear that. “Your father must not be happy about getting passed over.”
“He’s livid.”
“Is the military going to force him to retire soon?”
She grimaced. “Any day. God knows what he’ll do with himself after that. He’s a Marine and nothing else. He’s talked for years about looking forward to retiring, but I think he’s been lying all along.”
Wes snorted. “He can always go into cattle ranching. My dad made the transition to it, okay.”
“Your dad had your mom to help him make the transition.”
“Well, your dad has you.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Except he treats me like I’m fifteen and the boys are just starting to come sniffing around. I’m twenty-six, for crying out loud. The last thing I need is him hanging around, hovering over every aspect of my life more than he already tries to.”
Wes grinned crookedly. “I’ll probably be the same way with my daughters, so I can’t really fault the guy for being protective.” He added soberly, “And as it turned out, he was not wrong. You nearly got into some serious trouble.”
Jessica snapped, “He’s not protective. He’s obsessive.”
When they’d been dating, she had always refused to talk about her father. He was intrigued that she would use such strong language now to describe her only parent. Wes studied Jessica intently. “Really? Tell me about it.”
“When he gets drunk, he calls me Rebecca. That was my mother’s name.”
Okay. That was creepy.
She continued, “Once, when he was talking to me like I was her, he told me he’d kill me before he would let me leave him. When I was a little girl, he used to say that she might have died and left him, but that he knew I never would. I used to think it was just his way of telling me he loved me. Now, looking back, it was a bit sinister.”
Wow. That did go beyond overprotective a little too far. Aloud, he said carefully, “Your father does have a rather...extreme...personality.”
Jessica snorted loudly enough that Number 19ꞌs head jerked up. She murmured to the cow, “It’s all right, girl. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”
He just shook his head. If Jess wanted to talk to his cows like they understood her, more power to her.
“My father is big about putting up a good front for the rest of the world. Behind it, he’s an entirely different person, particularly when he’s under a lot of stress or he’s been drinking.”
“I saw that at work with him. He was all jovial and friendly when anyone else was around. But get alone in an office with him, and more often than not, he was a born-again sonofabitch. Impossible to please. Obsessive about the tiniest details.” Wes added reflectively, “Do you think it’s fear of failure that drives him or something else?”
Jessica frowned. “I always thought he secretly felt unworthy. Or felt like a fraud. I could never really put my finger on it, but it was as if he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t and was terrified of getting caught.”
“Rough way to live a life,” Wes commented.
“Agreed. That’s part of why it was so important for me to clear the air with you. I truly didn’t expect you to forgive me. I have no right to ask for that after what I did. But I wanted you to know why I did it and not obsess over why I turned on you like that. I saw what obsessing has done to my father. It has eaten him up from the inside out.”
Quiet fell between them as they watched the newborn calf wake and stumble to its feet, still sorting out the whole business of managing four legs. Mama got up immediately and moved into position for the calf to nurse, nudging the little heifer with her nose. Wes smiled. “She’s a good mother. You never know with a first-time mama cow. Sometimes they get the hang of it right away, and every now and then, one doesn’t.”
“What do you do with the calves whose mothers don’t take care of them?”
“Bottle feed them. Ideally, you can milk the mother and feed the baby the milk it’s supposed to be getting. If a cow dies or doesn’t make enough milk, I’ll supplement the calf’s diet with milk from another cow or with a commercial milk substitute. But I like to try to get calves real milk as much as possible. If I’m lucky, another cow might have just calved and may accept the orphan calf as her own. I can tell you, it’s a rough, round-the-clock job, though, feeding a newborn calf every two hours.”
“It sounds like fun.”
He snorted. “It is until that alarm clock goes off at two in the morning for the fifth or sixth day in a row and you’re so exhausted you can hardly see straight.”
“Sounds like new motherhood for human women.”
He shrugged. “Any farmer who has hand-raised a baby animal can sympathize with a new human mother.”
Jessica murmured, “You’ll make a good father someday.”
“I hope so.”
He nodded, a little surprised to be doing so. He’d always assumed that family was a “sometime in the future” thing for him—when his career settled down and wasn’t quite so demanding of his time and mental energy. That, and he hated the idea of leaving a wife and kids at home while he went off to war for months on end.
“What about you?” he asked Jessica. “Do you want children someday?”
“I never thought about it much before now, but I guess I do. Assuming I can get it right and not mess it up like my father did.”
Wow. She’d always been guarded and polite in the past when it came to talking about the general. Had that been because he worked for the guy? Maybe she’d feared that he would tattle to Daddy.
He turned around with his back to the stall, leaning one hip against the oak boards. “What’s the worst thing your father ever did to you?”
Jessica stared at him, her eyes wide, as if the question had taken her by surprise. He could practically count the memories scrolling through her mind as her expression changed from one moment to the next. Unfortunately, most of the memories were bad if the look in her eyes was any indication.
She finally answered, “He didn’t love me when I messed up. Love has always been transactional for him.”
“That’s pretty esoteric,” he commented.
She shrugged. “I couldn’t pick a single thing as the worst. Overall, he mistook smothering me for loving me. Any number of my worst memories spring from that.”
Wes frowned. “I can’t imagine anyone smothering you successfully. It would be like trying to bottle the wind. You have too big and free a spirit to contain for long.”
She smiled sadly at him. “I wish that were still true.”
Hearing something like that from her was shocking. Stunned, he replied, “Look, Jess. Don’t let what a low-life jerk tried to do to you snuff out your zest for life. Don’t give him that power over you. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“My therapist said pretty much the same thing, but he took two months to say it and charged me a fortune.”
Never, in a million years, would he have guessed he would ever see Jessica Blankenship beaten down emotionally or even depressed. Reluctant sympathy coursed through him.