by Cait London
“I want you to think about moving in with me,” he stated very carefully.
Jemma was still nervous around him. While Jemma had kept close to Carley, she’d never really shared her life, nor had he. He wanted to prove to her that they had a lasting, comfortable, and growing relationship... and he wanted to romance the lady he had chosen.
Hogan wasn’t certain that he had romantic qualities, but he would try... because Jemma deserved everything he could give.
He sensed Jemma emotionally backing away, as she walked to the big pots of herbs and crouched to run her hand across the chives. She’d made changes in his house, and while they were unfamiliar and feminine, he liked the softer elements of plants and herbs.
Jemma stood and turned to him, her face pale and serious. “I’m here quite a bit, Hogan. There’s no need for me to move in.”
“I want to wake up to you in my bed every morning.” The statement was too bald in the morning air, and Hogan wondered how Jemma would react. “I have never stayed with any other woman all night, sweetheart.”
Frustration wrapped around Hogan like a cloak as Jemma took her time, breaking a fragrant lacy leaf from a scented geranium stalk. She drew it beneath her nose, watching him. “I’ve been married, Hogan. I gave everything, and it didn’t work. I tried to be something I’m not.”
“Have I asked you to be anyone but who you are?”
“I felt cramped and contained— stifled. I like to travel, to move around a lot, and you’re so scheduled, so intense. You’ll need a woman who can support your talent, play the hostess. I like to be out there, wrangling for myself. There’s all sorts of obligations when you live with someone. I’ve got a lot of things going at the same time and you—”
Hogan inhaled slowly. “You’re evading the real issue. I’m getting the picture that I might be boring.”
“You know you’re not, and you’re just wanting to brood. You’re not happy unless you can brood, Hogan. All of you Kodiaks are that way. I’ve come to accept that that’s your level of happiness—brooding.”
Jemma smoothed his shoulder. “I have to be with Carley until this is over, Hogan. I’d never forgive myself if he came for her one night and again I wasn’t there for her. You know that my feelings for you are unique, but—”
“ ‘Unique’?” Hogan wrapped his hand around her wrist. He intended to keep her; she’d already taken his heart. “I’ll wait. We’ll finish any danger to Carley, and then I’m coming for you.”
“You’re not done hating Ben. I don’t want to be a part of that. I don’t want to know that while you’re making love to me, you’re hating a man I respect— that you could hurt him.”
“You’re making excuses and putting Ben between us.” Hogan wasn’t letting anyone else do his resolves for him. “You’re setting conditions— terms, aren’t you? My relationship with Ben hasn’t stood between us so far.”
“It might. I’d be stuck between the two of you, men I respect and like— men hacking away at each other.”
“ ‘Like?’” He picked up the word, cradled it close to his heart, and hoped that Jemma meant more. She tried to tug her wrist away, but Hogan held her still, using little force. Her hand turned, caught his tightly.
“I thought marriage would work the first time, but after we were together, it was as if I couldn’t breathe. So much was expected of me. I really did not like the confinement. We’d fight all the time.... Look at you, you can’t stand me using your things—”
“Jemma. You have a tackle box filled with high-priced lures. Because I catch trout does not mean my lures are better than yours. There are things we wouldn’t share. But I think we’ve got enough working on our side.”
“You can think... that’s the problem. I can’t think when I’m around you. One hot dark look from you and I start—”
She caught herself and ran her hand across the knotted T-shirt on her stomach. “My ulcer is acting up. Hogan, what am I going to do about getting those blouses? I could lose a fortune. Here’s the deal—”
She launched into an animated, fast story about a temperamental designer and a good manufacturer she could lose. “Ordinarily, I’d be wining and dining, but I don’t want to leave Carley now. And I’m doing so well with my fly-fishing, don’t you think? I mean Les is certain to be impressed.”
Hogan wanted to keep on track while Jemma was escaping, freewheeling through her profit margins. He needed a little reassurance, and stopped her hands toying with his hair. “Let’s get back to where you start— Start what with me?”
“Stop pushing. You are so intense. I start... simmering, ok?” She tugged the braid she had just done beside his face. “You’re grinning, you arrogant piece of— That’s what you wanted to hear, wasn’t it?”
“I wanted to hear something else, but that will do.” Hogan didn’t want to think about Jemma cornering Les Parkins for the television pilot, and tried to subdue the jealousy skittering up his nape.
He had definite plans to have Jemma move in with him, to share his life with her, not just a fast coupling between the other Kodiaks’ problems. He put the tackle box aside, then found a horsehair lure that Joe had helped him make years ago. The memories curled around him, an uncle he’d never known had died, found along the roadside. Now he’d never know what Joe could tell him, but he understood the looks they’d shared, the tangling of blood and of a woman who bonded them together. Who bound them to Ben.
Jemma moved away from him, and Hogan knew she was closing doors that he wasn’t ready to have shut. “What’s the real reason, past all this manure?”
She hesitated, then turned to him, tears in her eyes. “Deep down, you’re a family man, Hogan. You love children. Someday, you should have someone who wants children, too. I don’t. I’ve put in my time of changing diapers and midnight feedings, and terrified one of my brothers or sisters would die of the flu or a cold.... I don’t want children, Hogan. I helped my mother through childbirth. I’ve fed babies, and washed diapers and toted babies on my hip, when I was no more than a baby myself. Having children means regular meals, laundry, and colic. I’ve already been through that nightmare.”
“I haven’t asked for children, Jemma. I just want you.”
But Hogan wanted children, deep down inside, as she had said. Life flowing on, like the salmon coming back to its origins to spawn, a little piece of himself to hold and know that life would go on. But he could do without that need, if he had Jemma.
“It would always be there in your eyes— the way you look at children, play with them, and I’m not the woman for that, Hogan.”
Jemma’s tears shimmered in the sunlight, her hand trembling as she slashed them away. “I don’t know if I have maternal instincts— my mother certainly didn’t. The whole idea is wrong, Hogan. You’ll see that sooner or later, and I’d hate myself. I’d see that need every time you held someone else’s child.”
“Come here.” He wanted to hold Jemma, to give her comfort, to take away those early painful memories. If he got up and went to her, Jemma would balk. If she came to him, there was just a chance—
Jemma slashed away her hair and glared at him, fighting her past and future with him. The link between them was more than the locking of their bodies, and she knew it. “I’m in a fix, Hogan. The least you can do is listen. I stand to lose a fortune.”
“I’ll listen. Come here.” He wasn’t pushing her, forcing her into anything. Would she trust him to hold her now, while she was fighting herself and her past?
The intricacies of dealing with a woman he wanted fascinated Hogan. He wasn’t certain that Jemma would stay or leave. A little trickle of fear shot up his spine. Handling Jemma’s fast-moving emotions was a real challenge. If he moved too slowly, he was in trouble— too fast, and he’d step in the proverbial cow pile.
Jemma came to him and let herself be drawn down onto his lap. Hogan kissed her damp cheeks, and she leaned back against him, momentarily drained by her emotions.
Hogan relaxed, s
ettling into the unfamiliar peace she gave him, gathering her closer before she started wiggling to be free and running into her world of bargains. “You’re getting the blouses— the bosoms of the world will be covered from the horror of button-gap.”
Jemma turned to him, her hair flying out around her face like a firestorm. “What?”
“The designer likes my work. I agreed to design a small logo for her. It’s a trade-off. The carved herb stones are headed for a warehouse. You’ve got the exclusive on them.”
“What?”
Hogan smiled, a little heady with his success—presenting the woman he wanted with her desires. He stroked her thigh, enjoying the slender feminine strength, the leggy shape that ran up into—
He bent to kiss her parted lips, and Jemma eased back, her eyes smoky gray. “Let me get this straight. You entered my business deals.”
He nodded, feeling good about helping her. “You’ve been talking about how much you wanted both deals. I just added a little weight to your bargaining table.”
Jemma was too still. “Did you really? Did I ask you to interfere? To help me?”
Hogan frowned, trying to understand where he had erred. Her furious expression did not bode well. “Jemma, I was trying to help.”
“Did I ask you to fix things for me?” She bolted off his lap and stalked down his porch stairs. She gripped the reins of the saddled horse she’d used to ride to him and then retied them on the hitching post.
She marched back up to the porch and glared at him. “You are so dense, Hogan Kodiak. I do my own deals, got it? You were just supposed to listen, not try to fix anything. Did I ask for your help?”
Hogan inhaled slowly, feeling as if he’d been broad-sided. The intricacies of pleasing Jemma had escaped him.
“Next time, I’ll just ask if you need my help, honey,” he muttered, and wondered where the beautiful morning had gone wrong. She slammed into the house, and he was fast learning that life with the woman he wanted was not a clearly marked trail.
“Hogan!” He closed his eyes and wondered if he’d waded into another taboo-land as Jemma eased out of the front door, carrying a large painting.
“I was looking for more fly-tying supplies in the closet and—This is Carley on that night she was attacked. This is why you don’t paint anymore. You see her horror in your mind,” Jemma said quietly, studying the painting that Hogan had been unable to throw away.
He looked away from Carley’s large haunted eyes, the shadows around her girlish face, her mouth parted in a silent scream that had echoed in Hogan for years.
In the distant pasture, he found Carley-the woman in the field, racing from Mitch, and when he caught her, he held her high in his arms. Mitch twirled her around, then slipped her down to kiss her.
Hogan rubbed the ache in his chest. “That’s how she should have been years ago— happy.”
Jemma placed Carley’s portrait against the wall and came to stand beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “She’s lost weight, and she’s gorgeous with that new haircut.”
“Thanks to you helping her.”
“She’s just awakening, thanks to Mitch’s patience. When I first met her, I thought she was an angel with that pale hair and blue eyes. Then, with that so-innocent face, she lied to the teacher about something I’d done, protecting me. She still crosses her fingers behind her back when telling fibs. I knew I’d love her forever. Look at them, Hogan. They’re in love, and Carley doesn’t even know it,” Jemma whispered.
He remembered when Mitch had first come to the Bar K, a sassy-mouthed, bitter street kid. Then Carley had given him an extra portion of chocolate cake heaped with ice cream, and Mitch had probably loved her from that moment. When Carley nursed his bruised hands, cleansing them and applying ointment, Mitch had lost his heart. He’d hidden that love for years, and now it was blooming....
“All my kids are growing up,” Hogan mourned quietly, and drew Jemma into his lap again, needing her comfort. He placed his chin upon her head as they watched Carley break free and run from Mitch. Their happy shouts carried across the pasture.
For once, everything in the Kodiak family was as it should be....
“You came through for them, Hogan. You were a parent at an early age, too, and almost a parent to Ben when he was drinking after Dinah left. Where is this all going to end, Hogan?” Jemma asked, smoothing his shoulder.
The caress was still new to him, and he remembered an old scarred tomcat who leaned into petting as if he couldn’t get enough.
“The right way. Sooner or later, we’ll get whoever has been threatening Carley, but she needs to tell Ben and Dinah. It’s all going to come out.” Hogan had spoken to Aaron and Mitch about the need to reveal the family’s deep secrets.
He’d missed years of knowing who he was, because Ben hadn’t revealed Hogan’s mother, he knew the damage secrets and lies could do.
“Carley can’t bear to tell them what happened that night. Don’t ruin it now, Hogan. It’s been so long since everyone was happy—if they ever were.” Jemma smoothed his hair, twined it through her fingers, and Hogan leaned slightly into her touch, noting again how she soothed the raw edges within him.
“You’re always so practical. I know everything needs to come out, but it’s just so nice now. Can’t we let everyone be happy for just a bit more?”
With a sigh, Hogan let the heady peace overrule his sense that disaster loomed too close to the Kodiak family.
He stroked Jemma’s back and held her close. When she suddenly sat up, Hogan jerked back to safeguard his chin. From experience, he knew that Jemma’s head, elbows, and knees were all potential weapons. She looked at him, her expression vividly alive. “I’ll pose for you. You can paint me.”
He snorted at that and studied the sun catching the varied shades in her hair. He could almost feel the drag of the brushes, the smell of the paint.... “You can’t sit still long enough.”
Jemma wiggled her eyebrows, leering at him. “Who said anything about sitting?”
*** ***
Mrs. Coleman was a birdlike shadow of a woman, confined to her wheelchair, an afghan covering her legs.
She seemed more like a piece of furniture in the small cluttered parlor, laden with keepsakes and doilies. “I’m so glad you came, girls. Goodness, it’s hot for the second week of June,” she said cheerfully, pouring tea into elegant china cups. “Richard, would you please get the tea cozy? We mustn’t serve our lovely guests tepid tea. Goodness, Carley, but you’re looking rosy. Jemma was always quite colorful, but you’ve blossomed into a beautiful young lady.”
Jemma had just caught Mitch and Carley kissing in a closet, and Carley still wore that dazed, floating-in-heaven look. From the look of Mitch, he was steaming nicely and quite in love.
Mrs. Coleman glanced at the kitchen door, closing behind Richard, and leaned close to whisper to Jemma and Carley. “He’s just like his father. He may seem sweet, but underneath he’s a monster. He makes me take medicine that—”
Jemma met Carley’s look. During their visits with her, Mrs. Coleman had seemed disoriented, confusing her son with his militant, demanding father.
“What was that you were saying, Mother?” Richard asked as he came back into the room.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Coleman’s hands trembled. “Only that I’m so tired, dear, and that you’re taking such good care of me. Maybe the girls would like to help me to my room.”
Richard’s thin face warmed in the dim light, filtered by the lace curtains at the window. “I will, Mother. It’s time for your medicine anyway.”
“Girls, you will take that box of old clothing and mend it? Before donating it to the church thrift shop? I’d appreciate that so much. I used to—”
“Come along, Mother,” Richard said firmly.
When Richard wheeled his mother away, Carley shook her head. “That’s so sad. She was always so nice. She’s lucky to have Richard. He’s taking good care of her. But she says things like that when he’s out of t
he room.”
Through the lacy curtains, Jemma glanced at Hogan. He leaned against his pickup and waited for them as if he’d wait forever. Richard’s two big Rottweilers didn’t like the tall stranger. The dogs raised a furious row, pacing back and forth in their pens.
Jemma ached for Hogan’s loss, for an uncle he’d never really known and for the mother he’d just discovered. She knew that she made him happy, and that he did not like the thought of her coddling a television producer.
He’d stunned her, a man who had never spent all night with another woman, and who wanted her to live with him.
Hogan was, at his roots, an old-fashioned man, and Jemma knew that he wanted a commitment from her. He was taking his time, that slow careful way he handled his life, and he wanted her. One dark sizzling look could take away her breath and make her skin tighten.
Richard came back into the room and frowned at the barking, furious dogs outside. “I should go quiet them. They are so excitable. Vicious dogs, but I need them for security.”
He smiled at Carley and Jemma. “Would you like to see my collections? I built a room onto the back— quite the place, really. Perfect controlled humidity and quite the display of everything I’ve collected over the years.”
“We’d love that, Richard,” Carley said. “Wouldn’t we, Jemma?”
Jemma shot a lingering, aching glance at Hogan and watched as he walked to the penned dogs. He crouched and starting talking quietly with them. Hogan had a gentling way with animals, just as he did with her. The dogs quieted and Richard peered out the window. “How nice. Hogan always did have a way with animals.”
Then he smiled, adjusted his thick glasses, and led them to the back of the house. They entered a huge, well-lighted room, layered with collections of butterflies, World War II memorabilia, stamps, and a carved jade collection. He leaned close to Carley as she studied a glass-enclosed display of opulent jewelry.
“I still have the ring you gave me,” she said.
“You should wear it,” Richard said briskly, and continued his tour of each collection. “Come back when you like. I’ll let you try these pieces on.... Jemma, you, too. Beautiful jewelry should be worn, but I’ve never—”