by Cait London
“Why, angel, I think you’re cute, all rumpled and cuddly-looking,” he answered slowly, sincerely and smoothed her chopped pale hair back from her cheek.
“Just let me out of here before the explosion,” Aaron said, moving out of the room.
“Define ‘cute,’” Carley ordered, her hands on her hips.
“Just that. Cute. Cuddly.” Then Mitch bent to lightly brush his lips over hers and followed Aaron downstairs.
Stunned, Carley stared at Dinah’s framed Monet print of water lilies and tried to understand Mitch’s comment and his light kiss.
*** ***
In the van, Jemma stood aside as Hogan entered, bending slightly. “You can stand straight. It’s called a high-top.”
She flattened against the small closet she’d had designed for fishing gear, and held her breath. Hogan, in small places, was even more intimidating, his shoulders blocking the rest of the small enclosure as he turned. She noted the small flare of his nostrils, that quick agile turn of his head as though sensing something he would keep to himself, locking it there to turn and examine it. His hand opened and gracefully stroked the paneling on the ceiling, an admiring touch. He glanced at the lush captain’s chairs, the sprawling dashboard and comfortable accessories, the television, tiny kitchenette, and bathroom. “Nice.”
Just an average “nice,” after Jemma worked until she dropped, using muted jade and cream and soft willow patterns to emphasize her vivid coloring, and softly shaded birch cabinets and woodwork for contrast. How like Hogan to withhold the approval she wanted from a world-class artist!
She forced air into her lungs. She hadn’t realized how dynamic Hogan could be in small places, his dark coloring and black sweatshirt a masculine contrast to the softly muted colors. In her lifetime, she’d never been aware of another man like she was of Hogan.
He was always so controlled, covering his emotions, and while she ached to tear that mask away, she also feared what she would find in herself.
“It should be nice— it cost a mint. It’s an investment in getting that television series. It has a huge bed. You take the dining table and— Hogan, I want you to move into the bunkhouse, if not the house,” she found herself saying. “Old Joe needs company, and you could enjoy Aaron’s big-screen television. You don’t have one.”
He wouldn’t she thought. Hogan preferred quiet and shadows, and the haunting tenderness of that kiss had surprised her— so had his playful pursuit of her. Tonight he hadn’t wanted to be near her, and that raised an uncertainty if she’d misunderstood—
His expression tightened, that tiny scar on his cheek deepening. He rubbed it thoughtfully, then said, “I thought you were going to show me your button collection.”
“I will. Sit down— here, put this towel under you. You’ve got mud on your jeans. Would you like something to drink? Carrot juice or sangria?” She wanted Hogan comfortable and agreeable for once; she wanted to take his perversity and wrap it to her needs— to have the Kodiak family reunited, to make Carley and Dinah happy.
“Guess,” he returned. “And it’s not carrot juice.”
She took the wineglasses from an overhead rack, where they hung upside down. This sangria wine was cheap and sweet, used when she couldn’t sleep and her nerves were showing. She hated when her nerves showed, when her shields were down.
After arranging the towel on the seat, he eased into the cozy booth around her table, his long legs extending into her path. She stepped over them on her way to the closet with linens and withdrew a towel, tossing it to him. He’d seen her button collection before, knew the ceremony of carefully spreading the towel, so that none of them would slide and be lost forever. When they were teens, Mitch had stolen her collection and hidden it, and Hogan had made him return the old coffee jar.
“Pour this, but don’t spill any, will you? The upholstery on this rig cost a fortune,” she said as she flipped on the surround-sound system and Kenny G’s smooth music curled around the paneled interior of her van.
Sprawled in the booth, his arms across the back, Hogan looked too big and too dangerous... and wary and immovable. He poured the wine expertly, his eyes never leaving hers. Her hand shook as she retrieved the large flat metal box decorated with flowers from a shelf. Another stealthy look at Hogan told her she needed him in a better mood. “Would you like something to eat? I could make sandwiches.”
She bent to study the tiny refrigerator and the sliced turkey and bread she’d tucked away for a private moment away from the volatile Kodiaks. She glanced at Hogan and decided that what she wanted was worth the effort of playing hostess and serving him, catering to him. If she could find just one weak spot, something he needed, she could barter for what she wanted.
Hogan glanced at the magazines on her bookshelf and the DVDs, all concerning sports and fishing. He nodded as she placed the plates of sandwiches on the table.
After considering where to sit, Jemma decided anywhere would be too close to Hogan— she remembered his hard body beneath hers when she fell from the roof. His big hands had tightened on her hips, a dark, almost savage look in his eyes. Now, he’d drawn that cool shell around him, no doubt expecting her to want something— he was right. She eased into the booth beside him and out of habit, began to eat quickly, hungrily.
She was too aware of him, uneasy with the emotions scurrying through her. She liked being in control of herself, and Hogan had the unique ability to set her off-balance. One look from those dark, solemn eyes, his straight, sooty eyelashes gleaming in the soft overhead light, and her body tingled.
Hogan ate slowly, stopping to sip his wine and study her. After eating one of the two sandwiches she’d prepared for him, Hogan placed half of another onto her empty plate.
“Thanks,” she said, hurrying to eat the sandwich, as always. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry. It will take at least another full month to get the house in shape, and—”
She placed the sandwich on the plate, her eyes filling with tears against her will. She turned to Hogan, who was always so safe.
She gripped his hand; it had always been so safe, and now she needed that strength more than ever. “We’ve been here a month and no word from Carley’s attacker. Don’t you think he should have sent her something, shown his hand or something? Tell me he isn’t going to hurt her, Hogan. Please tell me.”
Hogan slid his hand away, his expression grim. “He won’t. She couldn’t be in a better place to be protected. He’ll wait for what he feels is a safe opening, but we’re not going to give it to him.”
“Maybe he forgot about her,” Jemma offered, praying that would be true.
“No,” Hogan answered softly. “He’s just waiting.”
He set their sandwich plates aside and eased the towel over the table. The casual easy way he said Carley would be safe curled around Jemma. For just an instant, she wished his arms would hold her tight. His eyes darkened, and that strange churning, timeless feeling enfolded her, until she shrugged free. She wasn’t certain what was happening, but whatever the emotion, it was too powerful to step into.
Then Hogan said slowly, “Let’s look at those buttons.”
*** ***
Chapter Seven
“And these are the Kodiaks’. I really only brought my best collection. The rest are back in my new apartment. It was a real buy, and it’s in a good location, too,” Jemma said, her voice humming with emotion.
Taped to paper, or on a scrap of cloth from where they’d been cut, the neatly stored buttons were carefully removed from the red-velvet lining of a big metal box, black with lush red roses.
She bent over the buttons, intent upon memories, her fingertip circling each one as if it were precious to her. “This is from Carley’s birthday dress when she was nine— we’d just known each other a year then. This is from Mitch’s blue-flannel shirt— remember? He’d never had a flannel shirt before and at fourteen, he thought he looked pretty handsome, wearing it open over a “Dirty Dogs are Best” T-shirt. Remember h
ow he swaggered, and we all wondered if those jeans were going to fall down? His hair all slicked-back and curling at his nape?”
With a fond smile on her lips and laughter in her gray eyes, Jemma turned to Hogan. “This is Ben’s, from an old work shirt he’d tossed away. Look. I snipped a piece of the material, too, just old worn flannel, but a remembrance of the man I adored. He always gave me the old shirts before they were discarded, saying the buttons would scratch the windows when the shirts were just cleaning rags. But he knew how I loved buttons.”
She traced the buttons with her fingertip. “He gave me two of his mother’s— a pretty black one and an ornate brass one. Here they are— I sewed them on a patch of black velvet so they wouldn’t get lost. Dinah gave me this one... it was made from shell, and she gave me a few of her mother’s— Dinah was disowned, you know, for marrying Ben. But she loved him so much that she never went back to her family, because they couldn’t accept him, a rough Montana cowboy. She still loves him desperately, and he loves her.”
Hogan traced the emotions racing across Jemma’s expressive face, the angles soft with love. He touched the wildfire of her hair, felt it cling to the rough calluses of his hand, a delicate gleaming web as he held his hand a distance away. She’d always been full of whimsy and dreams, dancing through life, a romantic when it came to the Kodiak family. “You’ve got a romantic streak, Jemma. Let it go. There are too many years between them.”
“No, I won’t,” she stated fiercely. “I will not, Hogan Kodiak. Don’t ask me to. Dinah says the split was her fault... She realizes now that she pushed Ben too much at a time when he needed to heal. She says she shouldn’t have wanted to show him how much it didn’t make a difference, that Ben is a man who takes his time healing and he would have healed if she hadn’t gone in that cave after him. It’s that cave-thing you Kodiaks are into... it’s so maddening. Carley has been in an emotional cave since that night, and no one is making a move to heal. Anyone can see you all love each other.”
Hogan flattened his hands on the table, preparing for the path Jemma was certain to take. “Leave it.”
“You sound just like Ben. You’re so much alike, despite your worldly artist-guy trappings. This white one was from that dress shirt you used to have— Ben was angry with you for tearing the sleeve, and you fought— Oh, Hogan, please make it stop. Please end this.”
She was pushing him, her fingers pale and slender upon the back of his hand. Hogan turned his hand, catching hers. The bones within her hand, lying restless beneath the smooth skin, were fragile and enticing.
The essence of woman, he thought— capable, strong, and fascinating to him, the nails neatiy clipped when once they had been long and tapered. The chameleon, he decided, a woman who had to survive, adjusting for another role. He stroked the back of her hand and slid two fingers down the shape of each finger before looking up at her. “This isn’t your family, Jemma. Back off.”
“I’ve made it mine— for Carley’s sake,” she said firmly as if she’d taken an oath she’d never break.
Hogan didn’t like the quick surge of his temper, the way he felt himself coiling to strike back. This was a woman he wanted to make love to, tenderly, with meaning, and yet there were rules.
He settled back in the cushioned booth to watch Jemma’s eyes widen and her face pale. “Let’s talk about your family for a change. Your real one.”
“What do you mean?” Her tone trembled enough to make Hogan feel guilty, as if he’d slapped a kitten. Yet the anger and frustration riding him was enough to slash at her, to make her keep her distance— at least from his shadows.
“With ten children, the Delaneys were easy to trace. They worked the green bean and fruit harvest in Oregon, then moved up into Washington state. You and Carley were in the second grade together until your parents moved. Somehow you found the money to take the bus to Seattle, to play with Carley. No doubt Dinah helped you—”
“You had no right!” Jemma shoved her hands through her hair and scraped it back from her face, her eyes blazing at him. He admired the dangerous sharpening of her pale taut features, etched by anger. Then she was on her feet, pacing the small length of the van, slapping the cabinets on both sides as she passed. “You just had to do it, didn’t you? You had to step into my life.”
He’d wanted to know more about her. What drove her to cuddle a dysfunctional family? It had to be more than friendship with Carley.
Now, seeing her pain, he regretted the trespass. Hogan hadn’t made many mistakes in his lifetime with relationships, or cared enough to feel guilty. He didn’t like feeling guilty about hurting Jemma—
But Jemma was a fighter, slugging back at him. She bent to hurriedly search a mound of buttons, pushing them all into a line. She jabbed them one at a time. “Here. You know so much. Meet my family. Mom. Dad. Penny. Sue. Mary Jo. Zoe. Freddie. Timmy. Jeanne. Mack and Laura. Dad...”
She shoved the button on the towel. “Dad was a foreman wherever he went. Mom...”
She pushed another button, a cheap white plastic worn by many washings. “Mom struggled every day of her life. They both did, with little education and barely enough to feed us all. You’d think there would be love in a big family like that, wouldn’t you? There wasn’t. My parents were two careless, irresponsible, immature kids all their lives. They moved off one time and forgot me. As kids, we had to protect each other, making certain we were all in that broken-down truck before the folks took off.”
She shoved a coat button on the towel. “Freddie’s. Dead at fifteen from a fight... Mary Jo was sixteen and—” Jemma’s voice caught, her eyes filling with tears that she slashed away. “Mary Jo’s husband didn’t like cinnamon in her apple pie and he was fast with his fists. She died in the hospital. She was just sixteen, too.”
Hogan closed his eyes, guilty that he’d struck back at her. He’d laid her open, the pain kept too long beneath the surface. He knew how she felt, pressing it back... “Jemma. Don’t.”
“No. You don’t like the nasty details, do you? What’s the matter? Don’t you like reality? Or do you know the rest— that Mom and Dad and all the rest died when the truck’s worn tires finally gave out on that mountain curve?”
She slashed at the tears running down her cheeks. “The funny part is, they probably didn’t miss me. I was with Carley that week. No one even knew there was another child— me. I was just fifteen and on my own by then. Ben and Dinah both gave me money, and I took it because I had to. They knew my family wasn’t buying me clothes or taking me to the doctor, and I wasn’t telling that I was on my own.”
She slashed impatiently at her tears. “Dinah made certain I had good clothes by saying Carley didn’t need them, but I knew they were bought for me— I was taller than Carley. When I wasn’t here, Ben sent me money every month, and I managed. I owe them both now, and I’m paying them back by doing everything I can to make this family see reason. I knew how to survive, and Carley never knew, and you’re not telling her, Hogan.”
She slammed her fist down on the table, tears shimmering in her eyes. Hogan who was more familiar with soothing horses, didn’t know how to hold her, what to say— after all, he was a Kodiak without a heart.
Vibrating with passion, Jemma hurled on without him, deepening his guilt. “Don’t you dare tell Carley. She couldn’t bear it, to know about my life, and she’s the very best part of mine. There isn’t a truer heart in the world, and you know it. I lived for the summer and holidays here. Somehow I managed because I knew how— I’d had plenty of training with careless parents. So there it is. The whole, not so sweet, picture. It isn’t debt that keeps me hounding your family—it’s love.”
She slammed another fist on the table, jarring the buttons and glaring at him. “Don’t pull that dark closed-in cave look on me. You’ve got a loving family, Hogan, and it’s time you got off your duff and pulled your share.”
Hogan settled back into the booth, forcing his hands open and his temper into the night. “You can’t bring
your family back by saving another—the Kodiaks. You’re not getting me to move closer to Ben. I had enough back then.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? You are my family now, and you are not going to throw a fit over Ben’s transferring cows into your name.”
Hogan snared her wrists, holding them as he stood. He hadn’t asked anything of Ben, didn’t want to owe him. “What?”
“Cows. Cattle. Whatever. His pride wouldn’t let him take your money to fix up the house. You should have known he wouldn’t go down that easy. He just transferred a good quarter of his herd to your name, so be prepared for the tax statement... Oh, no, you’re not,” she said, as Hogan moved toward the door.
She flattened her body back against the door, blocking his exit. “You’re not going to Ben and get everyone worked up.”
Hogan’s pride tore at him. “You know, I’ve had just about enough of you telling me what I’m going to do.”
Jemma closed her eyes and when she opened them, there were more tears shimmering over the soft gray depths. “Please, Hogan. Can’t you let it go until we’re through this? Until Carley is safe? Ben’s pride means everything to him, and he feels he has to pay for the updating of the house and ranch. Let him have his pride, Hogan; you’ve certainly got as much or more.”
Hogan reached out to crush her hair in his fists, lifting her hair away from that fascinating face. No other woman had ever reached deep inside him, and he didn’t like it. “Jemma, you’re not the guardian angel of the Kodiaks. Take your misplaced maternal needs and—”
And what? Begin her own family, take another man as a lover? Hogan was stunned by his desperation to both comfort and claim her.
“ ‘Misplaced maternal needs?’ What about you? You’re still trying to shove everyone around, and you haven’t cleaned up your own life yet. When are you going to stop being the observer, Hogan? When are you going to move into life and live it?” she whispered. “And what about the grandchildren?”