Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  Still in minor shock, Jessica opened the front door and let Miranda enter first. The older woman stopped just inside the door and took a long look around, long enough to register every detail. Jessica was confident in her own ability, but tonight she was nervous about how this opinionated and demanding client would respond.

  Finally Miranda breathed, “Oh, my. It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  Jessica let out a big sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you like it.”

  Miranda nodded slowly. “Wes is a lucky man. I can see the passion you bring to your work.”

  Too bad Wes didn’t see it that way.

  “Is there any chance you could redo my office to look like this? I love how it retains the rustic feel, but it’s light and modern, too.”

  “Of course, I can do it.”

  “I think you have a great future in the field of interior design, my dear.”

  People back in Washington, DC, used to say that to her, too, but there she’d done mostly chic, elaborate, pretentious designs. It was fun stretching her wings here and trying something different. It had been a risk, but if she’d crashed and burned at rustic-lodge-chic design, she still had more money than she could ever use—even if she chose to live like a spoiled jet-set baby.

  Privately, it chafed her a little that Wes never touched his trust fund and chose to earn a living completely on his own. She had considered giving that a try over the years but had never had the courage to go through with it. Or maybe she’d never believed in herself enough to give it a try.

  She could probably open up a bank account in Sunny Creek. Start depositing the checks she earned from these design jobs. Maybe see if they eventually produced enough cash to live on. It could be an interesting experiment. And, if nothing else, it would give her a goal.

  An hour later, as she walked through the main house with Miranda, the talk of redecorating Miranda’s office was quickly expanding into a complete redo of the interior of the main house. Jessica thought the overall design was fantastic, but it could be updated and refreshed here and there—new fabrics for upholstered furniture, new window treatments that were less dark and heavy. A change of accent colors. Nothing too dramatic. Unlike Wes’s house.

  As the evening aged, she finally begged off, saying, “I have to be at Wes’s house bright and early in the morning. My construction crew is starting to refinish his ceilings and beams, and I’ve got an electrician and a plumber stopping by to make a few repairs.”

  “You got him to agree to work on that shack he’s been living in?” Miranda exclaimed. “How did you manage that?”

  Jessica cracked a smile. “Long story.”

  “That’s amazing. He seemed determined to punish himself for something. I was worried he would let that place fall down around his head before he would do any work on it. He seemed to relish how awful it was.”

  That sounded like Wes. Self-flagellation always had been a strong suit of his.

  Miranda continued, “I’m so glad he’s let you into his life.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Jessica disagreed.

  “I know my children. He’s got feelings for you whether he wants to admit it or not.”

  “He’s a wee bit miffed that I gutted his house. But a restoration to its original architecture required it. That wasn’t what he expected when he told me I could redecorate his place, though.”

  Miranda smiled broadly. “Good for you. Wes is the most like his father of all my boys. Stubborn and willful to a fault. John and Wes both need someone to take then down a peg from time to time. And you’re woman enough to do it for Wes.”

  Warmth spread through Jessica’s belly. Was this what it felt like to have a mother to talk with and who would back her up when life got messy? Everyone else seemed afraid of Miranda, but she rather loved the woman, as formidable as she was.

  “Stay in the hunting cabin as long as you’d like to, Jessica. No one else is using it, and it’s all gussied up, now. You can work on the main house, and you’re a short drive over to Wes’s place to manage that job.” She added archly, “And you know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder. It’ll be good for Wes to have to work to get you.”

  Jessica blinked, staring at Miranda. Apparently, the woman had decided that she and Wes were supposed to end up together. She wished she shared the woman’s confidence.

  “You know, dear, I think you’ll be comfortable up at the hunting cabin. There’s more privacy up there in case my hard-headed son wants to come around and make a proper apology to you.” The twinkle in Miranda’s eyes made it clear exactly what form she thought that apology should take.

  Wes apologize? Not very likely. But still. The idea of a little time to herself, to think about her future and figure out a way forward in spite of having a stalker tailing her, was very appealing.

  Plus, she would be ensconced deep inside Runaway Ranch, far from prying eyes and flying bullets. No way would anyone find her way out here. “If it wouldn’t inconvenience you, I might just take you up on that offer,” Jessica declared.

  “Perfect.” Miranda added, “I’m having the family over for dinner on Sunday. You have to join us.”

  “I don’t want to intrude on family—”

  “You’re coming. I won’t hear any arguments over it.”

  Ah. There was the iron-willed matriarch everyone talked about. Jessica smiled, rather fond of being bullied by this woman. “In that case, I guess I’ll be there on Sunday.”

  Wes was notably absent the next two days as Jessica supervised and pitched in to help the construction crew work on his house. The job was going fast because it turned out the place had fairly new plumbing and wiring, and the crew wasn’t moving any walls. The new roof looked out of place above the disastrous siding, but the new wood siding wouldn’t arrive until next week.

  The interior ceiling and its massive beams gleamed a warm golden color now, and the sanded and refinished plank floors had been stained to match. Slate flooring had been laid in the bathrooms and kitchen, and shower tile was curing before it could be grouted.

  She spent Saturday turning a series of carved poles she’d found in a closet into curtain rods. Wes had created them and they were probably walking sticks, but they were far too beautiful to take outside and ruin, thank you very much. She hung the new curtains using cast iron rings and stood back to admire the effect.

  Her laptop dinged an incoming email, and she went over to check it. Officer Demoyne had sent her something. Stomach tight, she opened the email.

  It turns out the threatening email to you was sent from a proxy server in Billings, Montana. It’s my best guess that whoever sent you that threatening email has nothing to do with the guy who roofied you. I confirmed today that he’s still here in the DC metro area.

  Billings, Montana? Jessica’s blood ran cold. Whoever was threatening her was close. So, as she’d suspected, those gunshots on the road hadn’t been random. Someone had deliberately tried to kill her. All hope, however far-fetched, that it had been a prank or a mistake of some kind evaporated.

  She sat down heavily on the lone kitchen chair she’d left for Wes.

  The back door opened and she looked up bleakly. Wes stepped into the remains of his kitchen and stopped abruptly, looking chagrined. “I thought you left already,” he mumbled.

  “I’ll leave now,” she replied glumly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She lifted her gaze to him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

  “I just got a message from the police. A threatening email I got was sent from Billings, Montana. It couldn’t have come from the guy who drugged me at the party in Washington.”

  “What threatening email?” he exclaimed.

  “The one I got a few days ago.”

 
“What did it say?”

  “Nothing much. Just, I’m coming for you soon. I know where you are, and you’ll die. The usual stuff you’d expect in a threatening note.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Wes demanded.

  “Because it’s not your problem.” She shrugged. “The police officer I talked with doesn’t believe the guy from the club is stalking me. Which means whoever’s after me probably doesn’t have anything to do with you. You’re in the clear.”

  “If it wasn’t that guy, then who shot at you?” Wes demanded.

  She shrugged, feeling defeated. Helpless, even. “I have no idea. Apparently, I have enemies I’m not even aware of.”

  He took a quick step forward as if to hug her, but then checked himself, stopping in the middle of the space. Of course he stopped. He hated her guts.

  She picked up her purse, tucked her new laptop under her arm and headed for the door. She paused long enough to say tiredly, “The crew has the day off tomorrow, so you won’t have to hide from me. We’ll be back Monday midmorning. The flooring guys will be refinishing these beautiful, hand-scraped pine floors. Your cabinets should be done being refinished next week. The cabinet guy still had to build a couple of new cabinets because of the reconfiguration of the kitchen, too. He’s hoping to finish those this weekend. But after that, the granite counters can go in. There’s been a delay on your kitchen appliances, but I’ll try to have a more or less functional kitchen for you by the end of next week.”

  It was just so darned exhausting trying to keep up a good front all the time, especially for Wes, who could read her so easily and well.

  She climbed into the Jeep she’d leased for the next several months while a Corvette specialist in Bozeman did more work on repairing and restoring her car. She barely made it out the front gate of the Outlaw Ranch before she had to pull over at the side of the road and rest her forehead on the steering wheel, blinded by tears that filled her eyes but refused to fall.

  Her entire life she’d been petted and adored, first by her father and then by her friends, teachers and, well, pretty much everybody. And now, the one person whose opinion she cared about judged and despised her. How could her life go so far off track so fast? She wasn’t a bad person, at least not intentionally.

  Even walking into the calm comfort of the hunting cabin a little while later failed to make her feel better. She ate something from the freezer and microwave without registering any taste at all, and then she flopped on the couch, facing yet another lonely Saturday night with only her regrets for company.

  She dealt with her misery by going to bed at barely eight o’clock and escaping into sleep. It was the coward’s way out, but she’d had a really rotten week.

  * * *

  Wes stared up at the gorgeous new vaulted ceiling in his bedroom as sleep eluded him. Moonlight filtered in past the sheers Jessica had hung behind the new curtains, which were made of a pale tan burlap. The silvery moonlight played with shadows cast by the heavy wood beams crisscrossing overhead. The room felt twice as large now and had a stately quality to it that he reluctantly admitted was great. She knew his taste, and he couldn’t complain about the new, raised stone hearth for his fireplace nor about the thick Navajo rugs on the hardwood floors or the overstuffed armchair and ottoman beside the window.

  The new double-paned windows with handmade wooden frames didn’t rattle in the wind at night anymore, which was a blessing, too. They’d driven him a little crazy over the long winter just past.

  Yup, his bedroom had been transformed into a gracious but masculine space where he could unwind and relax after a hard day’s work. And every inch of it reminded him of Jessica, no matter where his gaze landed in the space. She had touched or transformed every square inch of it.

  What was he going to do about her, anyway? She had all but accused him of being in love with her in one breath, and then had called him a hypocrite in the next. Was it even possible to be both? More to the point, was she right?

  His heart had about jumped out of his chest when he’d come into the house and spotted her this afternoon. He wanted to tell her how much he liked the things she was doing to the house, but the words of praise had refused to come out of his mouth. Was he really that petty?

  He fell asleep thinking about what she felt like in his arms and woke up the next morning imagining making love to her. He groaned and tried to get back to sleep, but to no avail. Irritated as hell at himself and at her, he got up, fed the cows and stomped out to his workshop to do a little carving.

  His finger was healing enough for him to start using his whittling tools again, and he needed to take out his anger on a good piece of wood, forcing it into the shape in his mind.

  His cell phone rang at noon, startling him out of the concentration he often lost himself in when he was creating a piece of carving. It was the ranch phone number. If it was Jessica bugging him one more time about some detail having to do with his house, he was going to scream.

  “What?” he snapped into the phone.

  “Since when do you take that tone with me, young man?” his mother snapped back. “You’re late. Have you forgotten about dinner at the main house today?”

  “Crap. I didn’t realize what time it was.”

  “Everyone’s here. I’ll hold the meal until you get here,” his mother replied sternly.

  Which was Mirandaspeak for he had better get his butt over to her house ASAP. He tossed down his tools and headed out. He loved his mother, but he would always be a little intimidated by her. She was a fierce woman as strong as the mountains she’d grown up in.

  He barged into the kitchen of the big house about five minutes later and pulled up short at the sight of Jessica and his brother, Chase, laughing at something Chase’s fiancée, Anna, was saying. “What’s she doing here?” Wes demanded.

  Chase looked up, his gaze narrowed in warning. “She’s my future wife.”

  “Not Anna. Jessica.”

  Chase smirked. “The way I hear it, she’s your future wife.”

  Wes rounded on Jessica to rip her a new one, but she’d gone pale and looked fully as horrified as he felt at Chase’s gibe.

  He turned back to his older brother and snarled, “Am I going to have to take you out back and kick your ass, or are you going to keep a civil tongue in your head and not embarrass Mother’s guest?” For there was no question at all who had invited Jessica to a family dinner. Miranda was famous for interfering in every Morgan’s personal business.

  Chase’s smirk widened into a grin. “A mite touchy, are we, little brother?”

  Wes told Chase where he could go and how he could get there, in the most succinct and impolite of terms.

  Mild-mannered Anna started to laugh and then announced, “Wow. You really do have it bad for her, don’t you, Wes?”

  He glared, but knew better than to say anything rude to her. Chase hadn’t been a Special Forces soldier for nothing, and the guy was lethal in a fight. Wes didn’t relish pissing off Chase enough to actually provoke a fistfight or even just a wrestling match.

  He glanced over at Jessica and was gratified to see her face flushed scarlet with embarrassment. Good. At least he wasn’t the only one bothered by the jokes about the two of them.

  John Morgan strode toward him and Wes braced himself. The two of them might have declared a silent truce over Number 19 and her calf, but there was no animal in distress to buffer them now. “Glad you came,” John said gruffly.

  Whoa. Miranda must have hog-tied him and threatened him within an inch of his life to get the Old Man to be that civil to his errant son. Their last fight, when he’d gotten home, disgraced and ejected from the Marines, had been epic.

  Wes nodded back stiffly.

  John turned to Jessica, and Wes was shocked to see his father’s gruff expression fade into a fond smile. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much I like w
hat you did to the cabin, young lady. Next time Miranda kicks me out to cool my heels in the barn, I’m heading up there to lick my wounds.”

  She replied, “Well then, I guess I’d better lay in a supply of good scotch up there.”

  Jessica smiled warmly at his father, and she was so dazzlingly beautiful that Wes actually staggered a little. She’d been so somber and unhappy around him recently that he’d forgotten just how magnificent she was when she expressed joy. She lit up a room, even a big one like his parents’ great room.

  Anna looped her arm in Jessica’s and led her away. Wes strained to hear what they were talking about and was surprised to hear that Miranda had hired Jess to freshen up the entire main house. Jessica was describing what she was planning to Anna, who listened raptly.

  Wes realized with a jolt that he was listening raptly, too. And he didn’t give a flying flip about color palettes and accent pillows. He spun away, scowling.

  “What’s up, Wes?” Chase asked quietly, holding out a beer to him.

  “Mom hates it when we drink on Sunday.”

  “It’s after noon. She’ll get over it.”

  Wes took the beer and tossed back a long slug.

  “You got problems with your girl?” Chase asked.

  “She’s not my girl.”

  “But you want her to be,” Chase commented. “Don’t deny it. You can’t take your eyes off her, and she practically glows when she looks at you.”

  Wes huffed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Always is with the good ones.”

  He shot his brother a candid look and was surprised to see sympathy in Chase’s eyes. His older brother clapped him on the back. “You might as well give in, now. It’s no use fighting them when you love ’em. They always win. Haven’t you figured that out after growing up with our mother?”

  “Anna’s nothing like Mom.”

  Chase laughed heartily. “And yet, she’s got me wrapped round her little finger. I’ll do anything for her. Anything.”

  Wes stared. “Really? Like what?”

  “She’s got me helping plan our wedding. Do you have any idea how many kinds of wedding invitations there are?” Chase rolled his eyes. “I thought it was a piece of cardboard with the date and time on it. Have you ever heard of a save-the-date invitation?” He shook his head in disgust.