Chapter 9
Maybe one of those stupid cows had stomped on her head. That must be it. Maybe she had a concussion or brain damage or something. Or maybe Garrett did. Because she could have sworn the man she'd actually begun to see as some kind of big, honorable, gentle-as-a-teddy bear kind of guy had just propositioned her. Suggested she hang out at the ranch for a while, his meaning glimmering clearly in those formerly harmless brown eyes. He wanted her, the jerk. And he thought she was willing to put out. All on the basis of a couple of innocent kisses!
Man, his ego must be as big as he was!
She tried to hurry through the kitchen and dining room, straight on into the living room and up the stairway, but winced with every single step. It hurt, dammit. Him and his hormones! She should have known all along he only had one thing on his mind. Why hadn't she seen it coming? He'd probably only stopped the stupid horses so he could paw her, not so she could rest. And it was only just now occurring to her how utterly stupid she'd been to go along on that ride in the first place. Putting herself out of sight and shouting distance of anyone. Putting herself alone within reach of a man. Even this man. Because they were all the same underneath. Hadn't she learned anything?
A hot bath, she thought as she started up the stairs. It hurt to flex her thighs, and she grimaced. A long, hot bath. She tried envisioning it to get her up the next step. Her back screamed in protest. Steam, rolling off the water, she thought determinedly. Scented water. Hot, steamy, scented water and- She sucked air through her teeth at a new jab in her side. "Dammit!"
Big, strong arms swept under her, lifting her like a knight lifting a damsel in a fairy tale. Well, she was no damsel, and this horny lug was no knight. There were no such things as knights. Not even in Texas.
"Put me down."
"Not on your life, lady. Don't worry. I won't trouble you with my presence any longer than it takes to drop you on your bed."
"Drop me at my door, Hulk. I don't trust you anywhere near my bed."
Garrett took the stairs at a brisk pace. "I didn't say I wanted to sleep with you, woman."
"You want me to stay for what, then? My sparkling wit? My charm and sweetness?"
"What sweetness? You're as sour as a barrel of pickles." He set her on her feet, opened the bedroom door and waved a hand. "We'll talk about this later."
"I won't be here later."
"Fine."
"Fine." She slammed the door. Leaning shakily against it, she closed her eyes hard in an effort to fight the fragile whisper of doubt that flitted through her mind, trying to make her wonder if maybe she'd jumped to the wrong conclusions about Garrett. But, hell, he'd been so uncharacteristically sweet-for a male-to her ever since she'd arrived. And now that she thought she knew the reason-that he was hoping for some easy sex-it made perfect sense.
Didn't it?
She groaned softly and hoped to God she was right. If she wasn't, she'd just made a total fool out of herself. She walked into the little bathroom, depressed the tub's plunger and turned on the hot water. They'd moved her into the guest room where the baby had taken up residence, apparently having decided she could be trusted around her own flesh and blood.
As the water flowed into the bath, Chelsea remembered the way Garrett had looked in here yesterday, shirtless, soaking wet and grinning like a fool as he bathed little Ethan. And she tried to think of why he'd been so nice to the baby. What could he be hoping to get out of him?
Nothing, of course. And it couldn't have been to impress Chelsea because he hadn't known she'd be watching. How could he have known?
God, could it be the man was just genuinely nice?
Nah.
Chelsea stripped off her clothes and sank into the bathtub, resting against the cool porcelain as the hot water slowly rose around her.
"Well, Jessi, so much for that stupid scheme you and Elliot came up with!"
Garrett slapped his dusty hat onto the back of a chair. His little sister set Bubba down and promptly knocked Garrett into the same chair.
"Sit still so I can look at this." She tore his shirtsleeve off, grimacing. "This is nasty, Garrett."
"It's nasty all right. I told her I wanted her to stay. Now she thinks I'm some kind of sex maniac."
Jessi pressed her lips tight, but a gurgle of laughter managed to escape anyway. She turned quickly to the sink, taking a clean cloth from a nearby drawer and wetting it down.
"Oh, yeah, you think you're so smart."
"Well, jeez Louise, Garrett, you can't just blurt it out like that. You gotta build up to it. Give her some time."
"I don't have any damned time. She wants to leave today, for crying out loud!"
Jessi came over and pressed the damp cloth to the cut on his shoulder. "Sounds like that would really bother you."
"Only because it might get her killed."
Jessi's hands stilled on his shoulder. "Killed?"
"Vincent de Lorean would do anything to get his child back," he said grimly, "including murder."
Jessi's eyes opened wider. "God Almighty, Garrett, we can't let him!"
"No, we sure as hell can't. And we won't. We just have to convince Chelsea to stay put until I can figure out how."
"Guess you'll just have to sweep her off her feet."
He grunted. Then he stilled, searching her face. His little sister was dead serious here.
"Tell her she can't leave until tomorrow, Garrett. Make something up. Tell her the flights out today are all booked. Anything. Then, tonight-"
"Tonight she isn't speaking to me."
"Tonight you'll give her an evenin' she'll never forget."
Garrett shook his head. But his sister's eyes were sparkling, and he had a feeling he wasn't going to have much say in the matter.
"Now, about this stampede?." she began as if it was all settled. Sure. Just leave it to Jessi. She'd take care of everything. God help him now.
Dinner was a strained affair. Garrett was damned near squirming in his chair when he thought about what he had to do tonight. He wasn't eating with the others. Just sitting here for the company and the conversation, really. He'd eat later.
Jessi had worked it all out.
And there was this whole other matter to contend with. Lash. Elliot had been raving about how terrific the man had been with the spooked cattle. Even Wes had grudgingly admitted the guy knew his stuff. The damage to the fences had been worse than Elliot had realized, so the three had only come in briefly for a quick sandwich and then headed right out again. Elliot couldn't stop talking about Lash and his way with the cattle.
Even Jessi seemed impressed. She'd gone oddly quiet and suddenly learned some table manners. She was smiling more than usual, too.
Lash looked at her as if he was looking at a little kid, which was yet another mark in his favor.
Hell, Garrett would have hired the stranger in a minute under any other circumstances. But with the threat of danger hanging over all their heads, he didn't think he could afford to trust a stranger.
Even one who'd saved his life.
Maybe later, after all this was worked out and Chelsea was safe.
Chelsea.
She hadn't come down for dinner. She'd said she'd rather skip the meal and go to bed early. He hoped that was because she was mad at him and not that she actually wanted to go to bed early. Because that was certainly not what she was going to get.
Chelsea wore an oversize T-shirt she'd snatched from the clothesline out back in response to the sweltering heat outside. She'd have preferred to remain wet and wear nothing at all, but there were simply too many males in this house. So she closed the bedroom door firmly and lay in the bed in the T-shirt, with the window wide open. She tried to rest, but she couldn't get comfortable no matter which way she turned. Everything hurt. She couldn't relax, either, because she kept expecting someone to come through that door to put little Ethan to bed.
It was late before she heard the hum of vehicles rumbling away. A few minutes later came footfalls
on the stairs, then the knob turned and the door opened.
Garrett Brand stood in the doorway with his hat in his hands. "You awake?"
"Yeah."
He came the rest of the way inside, flicking on the light as he did. "We need to talk."
"You think so?"
"Yup." He nodded to a chair near the dressing table. "Mind if I sit?"
"It's your house."
He pulled the chair close to the bedside, sat down slowly, then frowned, his gaze fixed on her bare thigh. She felt her blood rush a little more loudly in her ears. Then she followed his gaze and saw the vivid purple bruise and realized his look wasn't lecherous.
"I thought you said you didn't get hurt."
"It looks worse than it feels."
He got to his feet, headed out of the bedroom and returned within five seconds carrying a white plastic jar with a black lid. He didn't settle back in his chair again. Instead, he lowered his bulk to the edge of the bed, and Chelsea battled the urge to brace her feet against him and give a good shove.
He twisted the cap off the jar and scooped out a gob of ugly brown stuff with his fingers. She caught a whiff of it then and wrinkled her nose.
"What is that? It stinks."
"Liniment. Jessi made it up for the horses."
"The horses?"
"Yeah. They get stiff sometimes, go lame. It's good stuff. Trust me. Jessi's studying veterinary medicine, you know."
"I trust you about as far as I can throw you," she said.
And when he set the jar aside and moved his handful of goo toward her thigh, she pulled her leg away. "Wait a minute! You're not putting any horse liniment on me."
He met her eyes, and his held a definite twinkle. "Just lie still. It'll make you feel better."
She had a feeling this was a form of petty revenge for her determined low opinion of him. But she decided it might not be, and that maybe it was worth the risk. Anything was better than the way she ached right now.
He put his fingers on her thigh and gently rubbed some of the stuff onto the purple bruise. And though it should have hurt just to be touched there, it didn't. The ointment-or was it his fingers?-spread warmth over her flesh. Warmth that seemed to penetrate and slowly sink into her.
"Better already, isn't it?"
She released the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding and relaxed back on the pillows. "Yeah. It is."
"I told you." He scooped out more gunk and leaned over to her other leg, this time massaging the stuff onto the sore spot on her shin. Chelsea closed her eyes. Then his other hand slid behind her knee, lifting it until it bent upward. He started to rub some more of the liniment into the back of her calf, where some nasty cow had pinned it between a hard hoof and the ground.
An involuntary sigh escaped her. She bit her lip when she heard it, but it was too late.
"Where else?" he asked.
Her eyes flew open.
"Lift up the T-shirt, Chelsea."
"Not in your wildest dreams, cowboy."
His lips thinned. "You really think I'm gonna try something, don't you?"
She didn't answer, just looked into his eyes. But she saw nothing there to frighten her, or give her cause to mistrust him.
"I'm only trying to help you. You're hurting and I want to make it better." He shook his head, studying the brown gob on his fingertips. "Hell, maybe I am out of line. Taking care of people just?well, it's sort of ingrained in my bones, you know? Got so used to doin' it for the kids-"
"The kids?"
"Wes, Adam, Ben, Elliot?and Jessi. Especially Jessi."
She swallowed hard; he'd reminded her of who he was. The man who'd raised five children and kept a ranch going single-handedly after his parents had been killed. The man who treated a little old lady in town like the queen of Spain and even worried about her cat. The man who'd taken little Ethan in when it would have been just as easy to turn him over to the local social services. And who had sheltered her from the battering heads and hooves of a horde of crazed animals-sheltered her with his own body.
Did she really believe he was anything like her father?
"You were holding your back before. I just thought?." His words trailed into silence as Chelsea stared at him, probing his eyes for answers, finding only more questions. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then nodded once. She rolled onto her stomach and lifted the T-shirt above her waist.
"Damn, Chelsea, you look like you've been beat with a club."
"I feel like it, too."
His fingers touched her then. Warm. Soothing. He rubbed the stuff into her lower back, and it felt good. Maybe a little bit too good. When he stopped, she started to lower the shirt, but he covered her hand with his.
"Shhb. Just be still."
He began touching her once more, sliding one hand higher as he lifted her T-shirt with the other. He rubbed the ointment over both her shoulder blades and then the spot between them. She closed her eyes again, wondering if anything in her life had ever felt this soothing.
She'd never been touched this way before. She'd never expected a man's touch could be anything but hurtful and cruel. But Garrett's was gentle and healing and good.
He lowered the shirt down her back again. Chelsea rolled over, wincing as the gooey ointment stuck to the material.
"I'm ruining someone's T-shirt with this stuff," she said. She felt she had to say something, and that seemed like something safe.
"That's okay. I have others."
She blinked. "It's yours?"
His eyebrows rose. "Who else around here would need an extra-extra large?"
Her throat went dry. Why? What was so intimate about wearing Garrett's T-shirt? Why did she suddenly feel as if it was him wrapped around her, instead of just a piece of white cotton?
"What about your front?"
But he was pushing the shirt up carefully and slowly. She didn't grab it and yank it back down. She waited, almost unable to breathe, telling herself this would be the proof she needed of what kind of man he truly was. When he yanked it up to her neck and tried to grope her breasts, she'd have no more room for doubt. And then?.
He stopped, letting the shirt rest below her breasts. And though there was a definite yearning in his eyes as he gazed down at her bared waist, he didn't grope. He didn't make any lewd remarks. He didn't smirk.
"Your ribs are bruised to hell and gone. Damn, Chelsea, maybe we oughtta drive into El Paso and get you some x-rays."
She shook her head. "Nothing's broken."
"You sure? Would you even know what a broken bone felt like? I mean, if you've never-"
"I've had plenty of broken bones, Garrett. I know what they feel like."
"You??" He stopped without finishing the question, but it was in his eyes as they met hers, searching.
"Yeah. A wrist once. A couple of ribs another time. And then there was the collarbone."
He swallowed so hard she saw the way his Adam's apple swelled and receded like a wave moving under his skin. "Your father?" The words were like a croak.
She only nodded.
Garrett closed his deep brown eyes very tight.
"It's okay," she said. "I survived it in one piece."
He opened his eyes, facing her, shaking his head. "But you didn't, Chelsea. You think every man who cares for you is gonna hurt you somehow, and that just isn't true."
"Isn't it? I don't know, Garrett. I think believing that is what got my sister killed."
He sighed long and deep, but said nothing more. Instead, he looked again at her exposed skin and resumed the process of smoothing ointment over her bruises. His fingers trembled a little. But he finished, wiped his fingers on a rag and recapped the jar.
"I have something that needs saying," he told her. "And I want you to listen and not think about your father or about your sister, if you can manage it. Just think about me and about you, okay?"
She nodded, but felt suspicion welling up in her heart.
Garrett cleared his throat.
"When I said I wanted you to stay?it wasn't because I thought I could get you into bed. It was because?because I care about you. And I-"
"You can't care about me. You barely know me."
"Now I thought you were gonna let me finish."
She clamped her lips together, crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
"I don't know you very well, that's true enough. The point is, I want to know you. I like being with you, Chelsea. I like spending time with you and I like the way I feel when I'm near you."
She stared at him, sure there was a punch line coming. But there didn't seem to be one imminent. His eyes were intense and so damned sincere that he almost had her believing this bull.
"How?how do you feel when you're near me?" she asked, surprised to find her voice had gone whispery soft.
He shook his head, his gaze turning inward. "I don't know?like?like maybe I'm more than just a stand-in parent to the kids. Like maybe I'm more than just the guy everybody brings their troubles to. More than just a small-town sheriff. I feel?I feel like a man. A flesh-and-blood man. I feel?alive."
She drew a deep breath and told herself his sweet talk wasn't working on her. Then she denied that her stomach had gone queasy at his words, or that her pulse was pounding in her temples. And that little shiver up her spine had certainly never happened.
"That's lust," she told him. "That's all it is."
"I know lust, Chelsea Brennan. I haven't lived like a monk, you know." He let his gaze roam down her body, but quickly jerked it back up to her eyes. "All right. It's lust. I won't deny that I want you. But it's more than that, too. There's something happening here, and I want to find out what it is, because it's something I've never felt before."
She closed her eyes. "Look, I don't think I want to hear any more of this right now."
"Will you at least think about it?"
She nodded, because she knew there was nothing she could do to keep herself from thinking about it. Hadn't he told her he didn't know the kinds of pretty words that could make a woman go soft inside? Well, for someone who didn't know them, he was doing a pretty good job of reciting them all.
"Good. Now that that's settled, will you join me for dinner?"
Another surprise. The guy was full of them. "The ointment helped, Garrett, but I'm still too sore to go out."
"I know. That's why we're having dinner here."
"I thought everyone had already eaten." She scowled at him, growing suspicious all over again.
"They did. And now they're gone. There's a big shebang in town tonight. Memorial Day lasts all week around here. Dancing and fireworks. Jessi took Ethan along."
Chelsea felt her eyes widen.
"Don't worry. She's telling people he's our cousin, visiting from Oklahoma with his family. Everyone knows there are Brands all over the country. So what do you say, Chelsea? I want to be with you tonight. Just the two of us.''
Panic made her throat go dry.
"And just so you know, under no circumstances am I going to lay a hand on you tonight. I just want to spend some time. Get to know you. I promise, that's all."
She was alone in this house with him. She ought to be bounding out of this bed right now and running away from him. But she wasn't. Instead, she was lying here, thinking about how much she could enjoy an evening in his company.
She must be losing her mind.
"All right," she heard herself say. "B-but I still have to leave tomorrow."
"You can make that decision tomorrow," he told her. Then he rose slowly from the edge of the bed without touching her. "I'll leave you to get dressed. Just come downstairs whenever you're ready."
She nodded and watched him as he left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Oh, God, this was not what she'd expected. Never in her life had she thought any man would care enough to try so hard to work his way past her defenses. She didn't know how to deal with this. She didn't want a man in her life. Not ever!
All right, so she'd just explain that to him. He could be Prince Charming, she'd tell him, but it still wouldn't matter. She'd made a decision never to fall in love with a man, and it was a decision she was going to stick to. And if it hurt Garrett's feelings, then that wasn't her fault. He'd get over it.
Garrett closed the bedroom door, leaned back against it and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Dammit, but he'd never felt more like a schoolboy than he did right now. And the scariest part of the entire experiment was that it had worked! He pulled the index cards from his pocket, scanning the lines quickly to be sure he'd covered everything.
Never felt like this before?like the way I feel when I'm with you?more than just a small-town sheriff. Yup, he'd covered everything Jessi had written down. And tossed in some of his own lines to boot. He'd thought Jessi had gone plum out of her mind when she'd set him down to coach him on what to say. But maybe she knew a little something about what made women tick after all. Hell, she was one.
Imagine that. Little Jessi, a woman. All grown up. He'd never thought of her that way before. But she obviously understood this stuff. She'd told him these kinds of words from a man would make her melt inside, then assured him they'd work just as well on Chelsea. And by heaven, she'd been right.
Garrett flipped through the cards to the ones yet to come.
Let's see. Music. Candles. Wine. And the compliments. Dammit, if they weren't the most flowery things he'd ever heard, he didn't know what were. But the other stuff seemed to have been effective.
Besides, he'd taken his own precautions as backup. He'd reserved every single seat on the two flights to New York tomorrow. Just in case.
Chelsea came down the stairs, and Garrett turned when he heard her steps. He was ready to tell her she was "a vision too beautiful to be real." But when he saw her, he forgot his lines. Everything rushed right out of his head because the sight of her hit him right between the eyes.
She wore a silk sundress that was the same deep green as her eyes. Thin straps held it up, and it fell over her slender curves like a caress. Her vivid red hair was caught up in the back, leaving delicate curls springing free around her face. The high heels made her legs seem like weapons, deadly weapons that could bring even a man his size right to his knees. For just a second, he felt they were aimed at him.
"Damn, you look good." Garrett bit his lip after the words escaped and tried to recall his lines. "I mean-"
"Thank you." Her face flushed with pleasure, and she smiled. Well, hell, he hadn't blown it with that slip after all. She reached the bottom of the steps and gazed past him. "This is nice. You did all this for me?"
He turned to survey the transformed living room. There was a small fire snapping in the grate and a little round table set up by the picture window. Two tall candles glimmered on the table, their light sparkling off the bottle of chilled wine and the dishes set there.
Garrett would have preferred a cold beer, but hell, if it kept the lady alive?.
"The music is nice, too. Did you pick that out?"
He listened to the crooning of some fella named Bryan-with a Y of all things-Adams, and thought he'd greatly prefer Hank, Jr. "You like it?"
She nodded, then came forward.
Garrett racked his brain to figure out what came next. The wine, that was it! Oh, wait, she was heading for the table. He hurried after her to pull out her chair. Then he got lost looking down the front of her dress because the gentle swell of her bosom had captured his eyes and wouldn't let go.
Damn.
He shook himself, dragged his gaze away and reached for the wine, filling her glass first.
"Thank you."
Thank God Jessi hadn't suggested he drink some from her shoe. The things had open toes anyway.
She sipped, licked her lips. Garrett's mouth went dry. He picked up his glass and drained it, then poured more and finally sat himself down. He didn't think he'd be able to sit still for very long, though. He was damned nervous.
"So," he said.
"
So?"
"So tell me about yourself, Chelsea." He belatedly remembered his lines. "I want to know everything there is to know about you."
She ducked her head quickly. "You already know all my secrets."
"I don't even know what you do back in New York."
"Oh. No, I guess you don't, do you? I work for an ad agency."
"Doing what?" He tried to inject sincere interest into his tone, tried to maintain eye contact, which was, Jessi had insisted, vital.
"I do the artwork for print ads."
His brows rose in surprise. "You're an artist?"
"Some would call me one. Others might argue." She shrugged. "I love to paint, though. But it's best when I'm at home and I can paint what I want instead of what's been assigned to me. My apartment gets great morning light to work by."
"I wish I could see your paintings," he said, forgetting about the lines he'd rehearsed. "What are they like?"
"They're children mostly. I like painting children. Happy children. Loved children."
He swallowed hard. "Because you never were. Happy. Loved."
"Maybe." She averted her eyes. "You did a wonderful thing for your family, Garrett. I don't know if you realize just how much they needed you after your parents died."
"I needed them just as much," he said. Then he tilted his head. "What happened to you and Michele after your mamma went home?"
"Went home. That's a sweet way to put it, isn't it?"
He shrugged, unable to take his eyes off her. The candlelight made her green eyes shine, and he thought he might lose the entire thread of the conversation if he looked into them much longer.
"We went into the system. Foster care. Got shuffled around a lot until we were old enough to be on our own." She shook her head. "I wish we'd had a brother like you to watch out for us."
"I don't want to be your brother, Chelsea."
She bit her bottom lip, maybe a little frightened.
"But I'd like to watch out for you. You and Ethan. Even if you do go back to New York. You remember that, okay? If you ever need me, I'll be there in a heartbeat."
Her green eyes widened a little. Then she shook her head. "You really are something, Garrett Brand."
He wondered if she meant something good, or something bad. He was straying too far from Jessi's script here. Time to get back on track.
"Will you dance with me, Chelsea?"
She smiled a wavery little smile, took a sip of wine and slowly, gracefully, got to her feet.
Oh, God, that must mean yes. Garrett got up, too, and stepped close to her. He slipped his arms around her waist, but loosely, just anchoring his hands atop her hips. She clasped hers at the base of his neck, and he began to move with her in time to Bryan-with-a-Y Adams as he crooned a heart-wrenching love song. Didn't the guy know any-thing else?
Chelsea sighed, and her breath fanned his throat. His stomach clenched into a hard knot, and he told himself it was just because he hadn't eaten. It was hard to keep that in mind, though, what with Chelsea so close and Bryan-with-a-Y singing about how to really love a woman. Come to think of it, the song was downright erotic if you listened to the words. And Garrett was listening. Mental pictures were forming in his mind. Pictures that distracted him from the lines he'd rehearsed and his step-by-step plan of how this evening was supposed to go.
"I have to tell you something, Garrett," Chelsea said, and her voice was as soft as goose down.
"What's that?"
She drew a breath, sighed again. Those damned sighs of hers were tickling his skin, and he battled the urge to pull her closer. So he could really feel her, as the singer kept suggesting.
"I'm scared."
She said it in a sudden gust as if forcing the words out. Garrett's feet stopped moving, and he looked down into her face. Her beautiful face. He was beginning to feel like a real jerk for leading her on like this. If it wasn't for the fact that she'd end up dead if she ran off, he'd cut the act here and now. It wasn't exactly the most chivalrous thing he'd ever done.
"Of me?"
"No. I tried to be, but?you're just not a very scary kind of man."
He lifted his brows. "Is that a compliment or a slam, lady?"
"Compliment. I've never met a man I wasn't afraid of, deservedly or not. But you?you're different."
"Different how?"
She shrugged and moved closer, laying her head on his shoulder, nudging him into motion again. He tightened his arms around her waist and held her close, then began dancing again.
But now the singer was advising him to really taste her, and it was beginning to get on his nerves.
She'd probably taste just like sugar.
"I'm not sure," she said, and he had to think a minute to remember the question. "You're gentle, for one thing. Everything you do, you do?gently.''
"And you like that?"
"Mmm."
"Glad to hear it. I'm doing one thing right, then."
"More than one thing," she said, and her voice was beginning to take on a lazy quality that made him nervous.
"You're also honest. You don't play games, just say what you mean straight out. I like that, too."
Garrett closed his eyes as a shaft of guilt the size of a Mack truck drove right through him.
"So the least I can do is be honest with you in return."
Taken aback, he stopped dancing again. Hell, she had been. Hadn't she? "About what?" he asked. He looked into her eyes again, saw them staring up at him, trusting him. He was scum.
"About?us. This?thing between us."
Wait a minute. There was no thing between them. He'd made that up. No, Jessi had.
"I feel it, too," Chelsea went on.
"You do?"
She nodded. "I?." She lowered her head. "I want you just as much as you want me."
"You do?" It was all Garrett could do not to stagger backward.
She looked up again, smiled just a little. "Yeah, I do. So you have to believe me when I tell you that if I was going to get involved with any man, it would be you."
"It would?" Dammit, couldn't he do more than repeat her every word?
"But I'm not. I made that decision a long time ago, Garrett. There will never be a man in my life. And I will never, ever, fall in love."
He sighed in abject relief. Thank God. Thank God. At least this way, she wouldn't be hurt when she found out this had all been an act to get her to stay here.
"I just thought you should know that. So you won't be?you know?hurt. When I leave."
"Leave?"
Was there an echo in here?
"I'm glad you told me how you feel about me, Garrett. It's just one more reason for me to go. It will be easier on you when I'm back in New York."
"But Chelsea-"
"I can't stay, Garrett. Especially now." She lifted a hand to the side of his face. "You're a special man. You deserve so much more than I can ever give."
"I didn't ask you to give me anything," he said, which was, he figured, better than parroting her words and adding a question mark, but not by much.
"That's good, because I don't have anything."
He felt like swearing. Like stomping or hitting something. Jessi and her dumb ideas. All he'd done was give Chelsea another excuse to run off. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?
He gave himself a mental kick. "I moved in too fast, scared you, didn't I?" She shook her head in denial, but he caught her chin and stared down into her eyes. "Chelsea, I want you to stay. I want you to stay because I like you and because I'm nuts about Ethan. And because I'm scared to death of what will happen if you run off to New York alone."
"I can take care of myself."
"I know you can. Hell, that's what you've been doing your whole life, isn't it? But this is different, Chelsea. You have to think about little Bubba now."
"I am thinking of him. And I owe it to him to see that his mother gets a proper burial-at home, where she belongs."
"Dammit, Chelsea, you can do it from right here. Ship
the body. Make the arrangements over the phone."
"And miss my own sister's funeral?"
Garrett closed his eyes, trying hard to rein in his temper. She was frustrating!
"We can have a memorial service in Quinn. We can send a bushel of flowers. Hell, Chelsea, what do you think Michele would have wanted more? You and her son safe here with us, or standing beside a hole in the ground in New York waiting for that bastard to?." He bit his lip. Too late, though.
"What bastard?"
He shook his head.
"Garrett, you know something about Ethan's father, don't you? Something you're not telling me. What is it?"
The timer bell pinged from the kitchen.
"That's dinner." He said it with all the relief of a boxer teetering at the edge of consciousness and saved by the bell.
"I don't give a damn about dinner. What do you know?"
He sighed long and hard, seeing his own defeat in her sparkling green eyes. "All right. I didn't want to tell you this because I knew it would scare you. But?I found out who Ethan's father is."
She stood away from him, braced and waiting.
He lifted his hands to her shoulders, but she pulled free. He cleared his throat. "Did you ever hear of Vincent de Lorean?"
"Maybe. The name is familiar, but?. Should I?"
He drew another long breath. "He's one of the most wanted criminals in Texas, Chelsea."
She jerked back as the shock hit her. But she recovered fast, and he saw something else forming in her eyes. "Wanted?for what?"
"You name it. He's head of the biggest organized-crime syndicate in the state. A real mover and shaker in the drug trade. Suspected of tax evasion, conspiracy, fraud, extortion?and murder. But so far no one's ever been able to get enough evidence to put him away. He's a powerful man, with powerful connections."
She closed her eyes slowly, backing up until her legs hit the rocking chair and then sinking into it.
"He has people watching your place in N.Y., waiting for you to show up there with Bubba."
She swore, using words he never would have imagined were in her vocabulary.
"You can't go back there, Chelsea. Don't you see that by now?"
She swallowed hard and nodded.
"You're scared. God, I knew this would shake you. That's why I?."
Her head came up slowly. "That's why you what?" Then she swung her gaze around to the table, the candles, the wine. And he saw knowledge there he'd much rather not have seen. "That's what all this was about, then? You were trying to seduce me into staying here? You thought you could make me fall head over heels in love with you and never want to leave? Damn, Garrett, what the hell were you planning to do with me once the crisis was over?"
"Chelsea, it's not like that."
"Don't make it worse by lying even more. You arrogant son of a?. God, you must really be vain to think a little attention from you would be enough to?." She shook her head hard, closed her eyes. "And I fell right into it, didn't I? Sinking into your arms and telling you?." She got to her feet, but not too steadily. "You and your brothers will have one hell of a belly laugh when you tell them what a sap I was, won't you, Garrett?"
"No! Dammit, Chelsea, shut up and listen for a minute."
"No, you listen. I'm leaving here. I'm taking Ethan and I'm leaving. But before I go, I need to know one thing."
He shook his head. She was not leaving. He wouldn't let her leave. Dammit, not when he knew she'd end up?.
"Where does this bastard live?"
His thoughts came to a grinding halt at the pure venom he heard in Chelsea's voice.
"You can't-"
"I damn well can. And I damn well will, and if you won't tell me where to find this animal, I'll find someone else who can. I've waited almost twenty years to?." She stopped talking, was breathing rapidly.
He shook his head and went to her, and he did touch her this time. He took her shoulders in his hands and stared hard at her. "Listen to yourself. Dammit, Chelsea, you're transferring all the rage you feel toward your father-rage you've been hanging on to way too long-onto a man you don't even know. What do you think you're gonna do? Hunt the man down and kill him?"
"Yes! Yes, dammit!"
"No. Chelsea, you gotta let go of this. It's eating you alive."
"I can't let go. They have to pay. Both of them. All of them. Every man who's ever lifted a hand to a woman?or to a child. God, Garrett, when is it going to end? Somebody has to stop them. Somebody has to say it's enough. It's over. No more. No more!"
She was shaking all over and was as white as a sheet. He pulled her tight against him, stroked her hair. "Chelsea, you're right, so right. Somebody has to stop them. But you can't do it alone. I know you want to, but you can't. No one can. And you can't do it by hunting every one of them down like the vermin they are. You might take out a few, but then you'd end up in prison and all the passion you feel for ending this nightmare would be wasted."
The first sob ripped through her, followed closely by another. It tore at his guts to feel the power of her pain wrenching through her small body. He ached, dammit. He bled inside.
"I?c-can get my father?and Vincent. And after th-th-that?it's all gravy."
"No, baby, no. Not that way. Not that way."
"Then h-how?"
He hooked a finger under her chin, tipped her head up and saw the tears flooding her face. He meant to look into her eyes, try to see if he could make her see sense. But instead, he lowered his mouth to her trembling lips and kissed her. He tasted the salty tears. He tasted her. She shuddered with her inner anguish, but she held on to him. And she opened to him. He pushed his tongue between her moist lips and met hers. He licked the roof of her mouth and then drew her tongue into his, held it there, sucked at it. Wanted more.
Then she pushed him away, and he went. He released his grip on her at the first sign she'd had enough and stood there panting as she glared up at him.
"You don't have to pretend anymore, Garrett. It's not going to change my mind."
She turned and fled up the stairs.
Garrett sank into a chair, whispering the words that had leaped to his lips without rehearsal. Without one of Jessi's little cards. Without a well-laid plan.
"I wasn't pretending." He blinked, feeling as dazed as a shell-shocked warrior. "Hell and damnation, I wasn't pretending at all."
A Brand of Christmas Page 9