At the front door, he paused and said in a low voice, “Stay behind me. Don’t call anyone until I tell you.”
Why had he told her that? Zimmerman had felt as though he’d wasted his time with his last visit. Maybe that was why.
“I won’t.” She could do without more judgment from Zimmerman, too.
He opened the door, and she entered quietly behind him. If there was anyone here they’d probably heard them pull up.
Noises from the kitchen made Brandon look back at her. It smelled good in the house. Dinner cooking. Was someone in there?
“I thought your housekeeper only worked days,” she whispered.
“She does.”
Seeing his worry, Eliza’s escalated. “Do your ranch hands help themselves in your house?”
“No.” He stopped. Clanking dishes sounded. “Maybe you should wait here.”
Eliza looked behind her down the dark hallway leading to the guest room and then out the front window to meager lights shining on the driveway and nothing else.
“I’ll go with you. You have the gun.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he moved forward again. Eliza stayed behind him, hand on his trim hip, peering around him as he neared the kitchen entry.
Her heart beat with the fear of unknown. What lay beyond the wall?
She moved into the kitchen with him, stepping cautiously around his tall frame to the sound of boiling water. A kettle steamed, and spaghetti sauce simmered in another pan. No one stood in front of the stove.
Eliza looked at the same time Brandon did to movement on the far side of the kitchen. A woman turned from the far cabinet with plates in her hand.
Jillian.
She saw them and beamed a wide, unnatural smile. Her Cinderella strides were eerily animated.
Putting the plates down on the counter beside the stove, she sang, “Surprise...”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Brandon demanded.
Eliza swallowed a dry breath. Jillian acted as though this were an everyday, normal occurrence.
“When you said you were busy replacing what you lost, I thought I’d help out by making you both some dinner,” the woman flippantly explained. She lifted the spoon in the sauce for a taste and closed her eyes. Buttery French bread warmed in the oven, and the sauce bubbled up into the air. But the delectable smells might as well be propane gas.
“Mmm. As you’ll soon discover, I make the best Italian sauce this side of the Mississippi.”
This was a horror scene. Eliza watched Jillian put the spoon down and waited for her to find a knife. Any moment she’d charge them with hand raised and eyes crazed.
“How did you get in here?” Eliza asked.
“The door was open,” she said to Brandon, smiling softly now, all adoration. “I told your manager that I was here. Trevor.”
Eliza shivered and gripped Brandon’s arm. This was going to end badly.
“Jillian—”
She put up one hand, the other stirring the sauce. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ve had a hard time accepting how fast you decided to call things off between us, and I reacted badly. I’m here to apologize, Brandon. I’m over it. I understand your choice, and I respect it. So, consider this a peace offering. You’re going through a lot right now, and I don’t want to make things harder on you. I just want to be friends.” She looked at Eliza. “To both of you.”
Friends? Eliza was too stunned to say anything. Jillian had entered Brandon’s house uninvited and made herself at home in his kitchen.
To make him dinner.
As friends...
A silence heavy with anticipatory dread permeated the kitchen. The delectable smell of buttery, garlic French bread and the spicy Italian sauce did little to entice her appetite. Jillian wore jeans and a white T-shirt with long, bulbous strings of turquoise and green beads around her neck and wrist. She stirred the pan of simmering sauce, looking across her shoulder at them, a soft smile on her glossed lips, slyness in her eyes. Eliza saw right through her. She was a witch disguised by beauty made ugly with feigned humility. Wicked insanity.
“You should have told me,” Brandon said.
Eliza moved from behind him. Jillian had spied on them when they’d had lunch. And the way she’d acted when she’d come inside...
Eliza wasn’t sure what to do. Should she call the police? Brandon was equally undecided beside her, both of them standing there staring at Jillian.
Jillian’s smile expanded, and she laughed. “I guess I really did surprise you.”
“Why are you here, Jillian?” Brandon asked, his tone deep and stern.
Jillian lifted the pot of boiling water and took it to the sink at the island, pouring it into a waiting colander. “I mean no harm, Brandon. Just one less dinner you’ll have to make while you’re dealing with burning stables and your brother’s death. Most people don’t ask for help in hard times. I’ve always found that a more proactive approach works best.”
Eliza refrained from letting her anxious doubt show. Playing along might be smart right now. As soon as Jillian felt threatened, she might come after them with a raised knife or something.
“Did you get all the supplies you needed?” she asked as she began scooping noodles onto three plates, the pasta dangling like snakes on Medusa’s head.
“Jillian...” Brandon trod carefully. “This is nice of you, but—”
“Have a seat, you two. Wait until you taste my sauce. I use two kinds of sausage that give it a great flavor.” She moved, quick and efficient, carrying the plates to the stove and spooning the chunky, mouthwatering sauce over the noodles.
“Go on,” Jillian urged. “Go sit down.”
Eliza glanced at Brandon. His brow had grown more shadowed with anger.
Jillian carried the plates to the table, looking at them once before returning to the kitchen she’d commandeered to remove the bread from the oven. If she wasn’t so crazy, Eliza would devour the meal. Whacked-out as she was, Jillian could cook spaghetti.
With the bread on the table, Jillian filled wine goblets with iced water from a pitcher. Then she straightened, finished rushing about, placing a hand on the back of one of the chairs and looking at Brandon with a hint of desperation in her eyes, smile faltering now.
“I did this for you,” she said.
“I didn’t invite you, Jillian.”
“I thought you’d appreciate the help.”
“I want you to leave now.”
“But...I...” She lifted her hand to indicate her hard work.
“I’ll reimburse you for the food. I do appreciate the gesture of good intent, but you should have called first.”
Seeing the desperation expand, drawing Jillian’s eyes down, Eliza moved away from Brandon, lifting her phone and pressing 911.
Jillian watched her, desperation intensifying with rage.
Eliza waited before sending the call.
“I did come here with good intentions,” Jillian said.
“And we appreciate that,” Brandon said. “But you weren’t invited.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You came into my house uninvited.”
“To surprise you.” She moved toward Brandon, pleading.
“I’ve tried to be nice about this, Jillian. You’re going to gather your things and leave now. Don’t call me anymore. Don’t speak to me when you see me. Don’t follow me. I want nothing to do with you anymore. Do you understand?”
Her mouth opened, and her eyes widened. “Brandon...why are you doing this? I only meant to make you dinner and show you that I can be a friend.”
“You want more than that. You won’t stop, Jillian. You keep bothering me even though I’ve told you it’s over between us.”
Jillian’s head cocked. “Bothering you?”
Eliza felt the energy change and wondered if she should press Send on her phone.
Brandon sighed. “Stop, Jillian. I’m not interested in you anymore. And after tonight,
I don’t even want to be friends.”
That shocked expression remained, her head jerking back. “This is the thanks I get for going out of my way to help you out?”
“I don’t need your help.”
“But I bought all this food and cooked this dinner.”
“No one asked you to do that. And I’ll remind you, you came into my house uninvited.”
“I didn’t break in. I told your ranch manager I was here.”
“If you don’t leave now, Eliza is going to call the police.”
Jillian turned chilled eyes to her. “Do it and you’ll regret it.”
“What will you do?” Eliza asked.
Instantly, Jillian caught herself. Temper in check, she turned back to Brandon.
“Let’s just have dinner. Talk. You’ll see that I mean no harm.”
A sound brought all of them turning to the kitchen entrance. A man stood there in worn jeans and a cowboy hat. Bright blue eyes stuck out from weathered skin.
“I told you I’d be watching you,” he said to Jillian. “Mr. Reed asked me to keep an eye on things around here. Looks like it’s a good thing he did.”
“This is none of your business,” Jillian retorted.
“I listened to everything you just said.” He looked at Brandon. “She told me you were expecting her.”
“Thanks, Trevor.”
“Do you need me to do anything?”
“No. Jillian was just leaving.”
Jillian ran her gaze over all three of them. Then with a furious glare to Eliza, she marched to the kitchen island counter and snatched her purse.
Trevor moved out of the way as she passed.
Eliza didn’t relax until the front door slammed shut. Clearing her phone, she put it down on the table and slumped onto a chair, the plate of spaghetti still steaming in front of her.
Trevor strode into the dining area. “She’s gonna crack.”
“We’ll be ready if she does.”
Eliza looked wearily up at him, not as sure as him. He sat next to her and Trevor sat at the opposite end of the table. Brandon lifted the glass of water in front of him and swirled it, inspecting.
“Smells good,” Trevor said.
“Do you think she poisoned it?” Eliza asked.
“No,” Brandon said.
Why would she? Her motive was to win Brandon, not kill him. Eliza maybe, but not him. If the food was poisoned, Eliza wouldn’t be the only one to suffer.
Jillian thought preparing a dinner for both him and Eliza would soften his regard toward her. She’d pretend she was satisfied with being friends, and then when the time presented itself, work her way into more. Maybe she hoped to play that role until Eliza left town. She felt threatened by Eliza.
“I wouldn’t eat anything else she makes you.” Trevor picked up a fork and dug into the spaghetti in front of him.
Laughing, Eliza picked up her fork and started eating with him.
* * *
Exhausted, Eliza crawled into bed, sighing at how good it felt to finally lie down. She’d stayed up with Brandon and Trevor, talking about the fire and their strategy for rebuilding. Though disturbed about Jillian, she’d never felt safer or more settled. The farm and ranch store manager’s comments kept returning.
You do seem to belong here....
She snuggled down on her side, head sinking into the soft pillow, curled into a ball, thoughts keeping her awake. She slid her hand under the pillow, trying to get comfortable. Something coarse touched her fingers. Opening her eyes and leaning up on her elbow, she drew it out from under the pillow.
A card.
Chills of alarm prickled her skin. Someone had put it there. Jillian had been in the house.
Scared, Eliza switched on the light beside her bed and sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the room. The windows were locked, and the blinds were closed. She hadn’t checked the closet.
Had Jillian come back while they were in the kitchen eating the meal she’d prepared?
Not wanting to open the card, she stood up and left the room.
Climbing the stairs, she went to Brandon’s room. The door was open. He lay with his arms folded behind his head, the television flashing in the darkness. She couldn’t see his eyes from here, not through the darkness, but she sensed he’d seen her.
She lifted the card so he’d know it wasn’t him she’d come for.
His arms lowered and he threw the covers off, standing in one lithe movement. She was momentarily frozen with the sight he presented. In only underwear, his strong legs and six-pack abs added to the spectacle. Purposeful dark eyes sexy and ominous. He towered over her as he took the card from her limp fingers.
“You haven’t opened it.”
“I...” She was still entranced by him.
He tore open the envelope and took out the card with furious movements, flipping on a light with the same flair. He read it, then handed it to her.
She took it, reluctant to read.
“David got what he had coming. You’re next.”
None of the notes previous to this were this threatening. And this one she could believe came from his father.
“Where did you find it?” Brandon’s tone was short with anger.
“Under my pillow.”
Whoever had left it had been in his house. Jillian had already been here. His father had already tried to kill Eliza. Which one was leaving the notes?
Swearing, Brandon went to the wall by the door and punched. The drywall gave. Frustration made him do it. He felt helpless defending her, a man who couldn’t keep his woman safe. Except she wasn’t his woman. Why those thoughts had come she wouldn’t examine now. More likely he meant to protect her from his father.
“It could be Jillian,” she reminded him.
He jerked on a pair of jeans and went to the table beside the bed for his phone. She moved to him, putting her hand over his phone, gently taking it from him before he could make the call to police.
“They’ll only assume I wrote it.”
Indecision ravaged him, the desire to protect her high. But there was nothing he could do. Not right now.
“We have to give them the card.”
“We can do that in the morning. I’ve had all I can take of Zimmerman.”
His guardian instinct calmed. She marveled that she had the ability to do that. They stood in silence for a while, the mood changing, taking on its own intent.
He slid his hand along the side of her face. She stepped closer, and he kissed her. Eliza kissed him back and the kiss grew in fervor.
He’d remember this, that she was safe with him no matter how many holes he put in the wall or how much patio furniture he threw. She also knew that once his dad was back in prison that he’d have his peace back.
The logic made it easier to keep her head while he kissed her. She carefully let herself savor him, answering his gentle, searching tongue.
Drawing back, she saw his confusion and felt a surge of satisfaction. She’d accomplished exactly what she desired. Wafting like the fragrance of a bed of flowers on a hot summer day, the desire didn’t stop there. If he kissed her again, she wouldn’t be in control of her faculties anymore.
“I need to check the house.”
She let him go. The house was locked tight. Jillian had left the note when she’d entered the house when no one was here and made them dinner.
She climbed into Brandon’s bed, wary of the danger but unable to spend the rest of the night alone.
When he returned, he hesitated at the door. Then he removed his jeans and lay beside her.
A silent understanding eased the tantalization of being so close. He needed to protect her and she’d rather not be alone after reading a note that threatened her life.
* * *
Workers were everywhere, beginning to rebuild the stable. After changing into shorts and a sleeveless cotton blouse, Eliza dug in with them. She worked beside Brandon, digging through the rubble and throwing it into huge tr
ailers that would haul it all away. Materials to rebuild would arrive in the next day or so.
That morning they’d dropped off the next card to Zimmerman and told him about Jillian’s uninvited visit.
“How did she get into the house?” Zimmerman had asked.
“One of Brandon’s workers let her in,” she answered.
“So, she didn’t break in. The worker didn’t think she was there with criminal intent.”
“She wasn’t invited. She just showed up to make us dinner.”
“Helping out during hard times. Your husband was murdered, Brandon’s stable burned down and his father escaped from prison. You two are dealing with a lot. She offered to help in the best way she knew how. I’ve seen it before. Seems a normal thing to do.”
“Ted Bundy seemed normal, too.”
Zimmerman had studied her in a long silence, and then in a noncommittal tone said, “I’ll check into it.”
“Are you going to question her?”
“So she can tell us she went to help you out during a rough time?”
Eliza had grown overwhelmed with frustration then. “What about the notes? Are you sending them to a lab?”
“There were no prints or other evidence to use for DNA analysis.”
Jillian was being careful.
Now a few hours later, Eliza threw a piece of charred wood into the trailer bed with more zeal than necessary, venting her angst.
The sun was hot. Sweat dampened her skin. She didn’t attribute all of that to the sun. Watching Brandon added a fair amount of heat. He’d removed his shirt like a lot of the other men. She stopped what she was doing to get some water from a big cooler. A man already there handed her a towel from a folded pile on the table. She thanked him as he left to go back to work and wiped her face and neck. Drinking more water, she unbuttoned another button on her light and airy blouse, all that she dared to do.
Turning, she saw Brandon again. A sheen of sweat glistened as his muscles tightened and relaxed. His butt was just as tight in those jeans. She remembered how it felt under her hands.
He took in the neckline of her blouse, and she ached to go to him and wrap her legs around him. She could not get enough of him. Never could. Always she was left yearning.
A Rancher's Dangerous Affair Page 18