by Ginna Gray
"I don't want just any woman, Katy. I want you."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious? I'm more than just attracted to you. I … have feelings for you. Very strong feelings."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted that very much. But experience had been a harsh teacher. Even though he met her gaze with unflinching directness, there was still that small kernel of doubt she could not overcome. The best reply she could manage was a wan smile and a nod.
She started again to leave, but this time J.T. stopped her.
"Katy?"
She cast a wary look over her shoulder. "Yes?"
Leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his usual crooked smile in place, he would have looked the picture of nonchalance had it not been for the way he stared at her.
"One of these days you're going to realize that I'm not Kurt Hattleman."
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Snow flakes as big as quarters fluttered past the window, drifting silently down to cover everything in a blanket of white. In the warmth of the kitchen, fresh-baked layers of chocolate cake cooled on wire racks. Their heavenly scent mingled with the smell of pine boughs that draped the mantel and the bayberry candles scattered about the house. A cheery fire crackled and popped in the kitchen hearth, and Ring Crosby's rich baritone crooned "White Christmas" on the radio's golden oldies station. From the basement came the sound of intermittent hammering as J.T. made repairs to the basement steps.
Humming along with the radio, Kate whipped a bowlful of double-chocolate frosting, a soft smile curving her mouth.
She couldn't remember when she had felt so content and happy. Perhaps it was foolish of her, but she couldn't seem to help it. She had grown so accustomed to being alone and keeping her distance from people these past four years that she had forgotten how pleasant it could be to have someone to talk to, someone with whom she could share meals, to simply enjoy another person's company.
Pausing, she stared dreamily out the kitchen window, her smile widening a bit. Particularly when that person was J.T. He was not only handsome, he was charming and funny and fun to be around. And he was downright handy.
J.T. had taken it upon himself to do whatever repairs he thought were necessary without bothering to consult her, such as replacing the broken and wobbly steps on the basement stairs, as he was doing today, or replacing a leaky valve on the water heater, or putting new washers in dripping faucets, or unsticking doors.
If she so much as looked as though she might object, he fixed her with his stern "don't you dare" stare. If that failed to stop her, he shut her up by simply planting a mind-blowing kiss on her lips. By the time the sensual caress was over she couldn't have told you her name, let alone objected to anything.
That Irish devil knew it, too, darn him. Whenever one of those kisses ended and he looked into her dazed eyes, his own were always twinkling. He would grin and pat her cheek, then saunter off to do whatever it was he had intended to do in the first place.
After a few such encounters, Kate decided that the prudent thing was to accept defeat and let him work on whatever he wanted. Although, she had to admit, there were times she was tempted to argue, just for the pleasure of letting him stop her.
In the almost eight weeks that J.T. had been there, Kate had learned that his inspiration came in spurts. At times he worked furiously, night and day, like a man possessed. When he ran out of energy or the creative juices dried up—whichever came first—he would crash, sometimes sleeping around the clock.
During the periods in between the bursts of creative activity, he spent a lot of time in town.
Several evenings a week he hung out at the Miners' Lodge. Somehow, thanks to that glib tongue of his and that irrepressible Irish charm, he'd managed to convince Cletus and his pals that he'd had no choice but to tell the sheriff what he'd seen that night they had dug up Kate's place, and, miraculously, there were no hard feelings over the incident.
J.T. spent hours pouring through the archives of the local weekly newspaper and talking to the people in town.
He also visited the mining museum which was housed in the old jailhouse that had been built in 1875. Technically, the museum was only open during tourist season, but, naturally, J.T. had struck up a friendship with Pete Braddock, who ran the place, and he let J.T. poke through it as often as he liked.
When he was at home and not working on his book he insisted on helping Kate around the house, making repairs, helping with the dishes, shoveling the walkways and the path to the garage, bringing in firewood and building fires.
There was one thing, though, that she would not allow him to tackle.
Kate grinned, remembering the morning he had discovered it was she, not the Gold Fever snowplow driver, who cleared the road that led down the mountain into town.
It hadn't been quite seven in the morning, and she had just gotten into her snow gear and was on her way out the back door when he had entered the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee.
He had obviously just gotten up. His hair had been rumpled, his eyes slumberous, and above the beard stubble that shadowed his jaw his face had still borne crease marks from his pillow.
Barefoot and dressed in old jeans and a hastily pulled-on, wrong-side-out sweatshirt, he looked adorably disheveled, and so darned sexy that for a moment Kate was distracted, and when he asked where she was off to so early in the morning she did not have the presence of mind for an evasion.
"Oh, just out to plow the road," she mumbled absently, staring at him like a love-starved puppy.
"Plow the road?" he exploded. He slammed down his coffee mug and glared at her across the room. "You mean you're the one I've been hearing out there before dawn every morning after a snow? I thought it was Joe Baxter."
"Joe plows the streets in town. Smithson Mountain is private property." Opening the back door she waved. "See you later."
"Kate, come back here!" he bellowed, but she pretended not to hear.
He caught up with just as she reached the garage and threw open the double doors. The security lights revealed that he had thrown on Zach's old pea jacket and shoved his bare feet into her brother's snow boots, but he hadn't taken the time to lace them. "Kate, I don't want you plowing that road," he gasped. "You go back to the house. I'll do it."
Chuckling, Kate walked into the cavernous old carriage house with J.T. dogging her heels. "Oh, I don't think so."
"Kate, it's still dark out, and there aren't any lights or markings on that road. It's too dangerous."
She climbed up onto the seat of the small snowplow, then looked down at him, still smiling. "Have you ever plowed snow before?"
"No. Of course not. I'm from Houston."
"Uh-huh. That's what I thought. Have you ever even driven a snowplow before? Or a simple tractor?"
"No," he snapped grudgingly.
"Well I have."
"It's still dangerous."
"True. Which is precisely why I'm doing this and not you. J.T., I've been plowing that road since I was fourteen. I know every rock and pothole, every twist and turn. Trust me, I know what I'm doing. I could plow it with my eyes closed. You, on the other hand, would probably go over the side at the first switchback."
She pulled her wool cap farther down over her ears and wrapped her long scarf around her neck and the lower half of her face. After hitting the starter button she flicked on the headlights and the powerful spotlights mounted above her head on the roll bar. "Go on back inside," she shouted over the engine noise. "This won't take long."
* * *
Kate chuckled as she placed a cooled cake layer on the cake plate and spread icing over the top. After stacking a second layer on top of the first, she anchored it in place with three toothpicks and scooped up another large dollop of icing.
To give him credit, when she'd returned that morning, and every morning since after plowing, J.T. had not only met her at the door with a steaming mug of
coffee, he'd prepared breakfast, as well.
It was only one of many small ways that he pampered her, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy every minute of it. Being cosseted and looked after, worried over, was a new and novel experience. One to which, she was very much afraid, she could become accustomed to all too easily.
J.T. was attracted to her and he wanted her. Though he did not try to pressure her into an intimate relationship, he made no effort to hide his desire for her.
He touched her constantly. nibbled on her neck or her fingers whenever he got the chance, looked at her with that predatory gleam in his eyes that sent delicious shivers down her spine, made suggestive comments.
Kate enjoyed his flirting. It had been a long time since she had been the target of those kind of seductive glances, and the feelings they stirred inside her were exciting.
The truth was, she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. And J.T. knew that, as well.
Kate closed her eyes and sighed. No, what she felt was more than mere attraction, she admitted shakily. Exactly what she feared would happen, had: she had fallen in love with the man. She just didn't know what, if anything, she should do about it.
Much as she yearned to make love with J.T., to share that special intimacy that only a man and woman who are truly in love can share, she didn't think she could bear to make another mistake. Kate knew only too well that for a man, wanting and loving were not necessarily the same thing.
And though she felt guilty about it, still lurking in a corner of her mind was that kernel of doubt she couldn't quite dismiss.
J.T. said he cared about her. He acted as though he cared about her. Went through all the right motions, said all the right things.
But then, so had Kurt.
Kate didn't think J.T. was after the money. As far as she could tell, he hadn't known about the swindle before coming to Gold Fever.
Still, she'd been wrong before. Horribly wrong.
Which was why she kept reminding herself that J.T. was not a permanent part of her life and she would be wise to keep things between them platonic. Come spring, he would be leaving, and she would go back to being alone. She knew she would not survive if she let him take her heart with him.
The telephone rang just as Kate added the third layer to the cake. It was an infrequent enough occurrence in the wintertime that she jumped.
Probably someone calling to book a room for the following season, she thought, wiping her hands on her apron as she went to answer it.
"Alpine Rose Bed-and-Breakfast."
"I'm calling for J.T. Conway," a gruff voice on the other end of the line barked.
Surprise darted through Kate. J.T. had been there almost two months, and this was the first call he'd received. "Certainly. Hold on while I get him."
* * *
The ringing of the telephone registered only distantly to J.T. as he hammered in the last nail. He straightened and stood on the new step, jumped on it a few times. Satisfied that it was sturdy, he picked up the toolbox and returned it to the shelf beneath the workbench along the far wall. He had just hung the hammer on the pegboard when the door at the top of the stairs opened.
"J.T., you have a phone call."
Surprise shot through him. Uneasiness followed instantly. Who the devil…? No one except Matt and Maude Ann knew he was there, and when they wanted to talk to him they called his cell phone.
But that was upstairs in his room. Maybe they'd been calling and he hadn't been there to answer. Maybe there was an emergency. Maybe something had happened to one of the kids. Or Matt, or Maudie. Ah, hell, maybe they'd gotten word the adoptions didn't go through.
He beat sawdust off the front of his shirt and jeans and took the stairs two at a time. By the time he reached the top his heart was beating double time. "Who is it?" he asked the instant he stepped into the kitchen.
"He didn't say."
J.T. strode across the kitchen and snatched up the receiver. "Hello. Matt?"
"Hell no. Do I sound like that hard-nosed cop to you?"
J.T. gritted his teeth and raked his free hand through his hair. "Aw, jeez! I don't believe this."
"Thought you could hide from me, did you?" Charlie gloated. J.T. could almost see him, reared back in his chair, grinning around one of his soggy stogies. "You're not the only one who cut their teeth on investigative reporting, you know."
"How did you find me?"
"Boy, by now you ought to have learned that nothing goes on around this newspaper I don't know about."
The clippings! J.T. grimaced, silently cursing himself. He should have known Charlie would see the request on Sunny's weekly activity sheet.
"I read those articles you requested," Charlie said, confirming what J.T. already knew. "From there it was easy to put it all together. So what've you got on this swindle so far?"
"Nothing."
"Dammit, Conway, don't be a sorehead just because I tracked you down. I've known where you were for weeks. I gave you plenty of time to call in, but you didn't. If you have a lead on where that dough is hidden, I want—"
"I told you. There's nothing."
"Yeah, right. You're staying at the B&B with the sister. Probably romancing her. And you expect me to believe that? I know what kind of effect you have on women."
Frowning, J.T. glanced at Kate, who was busily icing a cake at the other end of the counter. He turned his back to her and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "I don't care what you believe. Like I told you before, when I'm ready I'll get in touch. Until then, don't call me here again. Got that?"
"Now, wait just a damn minute!"
"I mean it, Charlie. If you don't lay off, all you'll get from me is another copy of my letter—the one that you tore up. Remember?"
"All right. All right," Charlie grumbled. "Don't get your shorts in a wad. But hurry it up, will ya, Conway. The paper hasn't run an article with your byline in two months."
"Goodbye, Charlie."
J.T. hung up the wall telephone with a sharp clunk but kept his hand on the receiver for several seconds and stared, frowning, into space. Damn, Charlie.
His editor's remarks had left him feeling somehow … unclean.
Dammit, he cared about Kate. Cared, hell. He loved her. He wasn't stringing her along, nor digging for information just to get a story for the Herald or material for a novel. He was doing it for her and Zach, as well.
"Is something wrong?"
"What?"
"You didn't seem pleased to hear from whoever that was."
"Oh. No. No problem there." Shaking off the unpleasant sensation Charlie's remarks had brought on, J.T. forced a grin and massaged the back of his neck. "That was just my editor."
"Oh, I see."
For the first time since entering the room, J.T. looked around, taking in the warmth and coziness of the scene—Kate with an apron tied over her ankle-length gray wool skirt and wine turtleneck, her glorious hair pulled back and clipped at her nape, busily icing a cake. The delicious smell of chocolate and Christmas in the air. The cheery fire dancing in the hearth, and Mel Tormé's velvety voice crooning "Winter Wonderland" from the radio.
The simpleness, the domesticity of it all, tugged at something deep inside him and filled his chest with a sweet ache. He could live like this, he realized. He wanted this, wanted to share a lifetime of this sort of contentment with this strong, proud and feisty, delicate-looking blond beauty.
All he had to do was convince Kate that she wanted the same.
Going with his feelings, J.T. walked over to stand behind Kate as she finished icing the cake and dropped the spatula into the soapy dishwater. "Mmm, that looks good and smells delicious. How about cutting me a piece?"
"Not on your life. This is for our Christmas dinner tomorrow."
Slipping his arms around her middle, J.T. propped his chin on the top of her head and grinned at her adamant tone.
Kate was determined that Christmas would not be a repeat of Thanksgiving. Durin
g the November holiday he'd been so immersed in writing that he hadn't even been aware that it was Thanksgiving. Or that Kate had prepared a special meal, which she had eaten alone in the dining room.
They were going to celebrate Christmas, she had warned him, even if she had to break down his door and drag him by the ear away from his computer.
She had gone all-out, decorating the house from top to bottom until it looked and smelled like every child's fantasy of Christmas. They had spent an entire afternoon tromping through the woods until she'd found the perfect tree, which he had cut and dragged home. The thing almost touched the twelve-foot plaster ceiling in the parlor. That evening they had decorated the tree together, then had sat on the floor in front of the fire and drank hot chocolate while they admired their handiwork. It was one of the most perfect days of his life, one of those crystal-clear memories that J.T. knew he would retain forever.
Love for the woman in his arms overwhelmed him. Unable to resist, J.T. bent and began to nibble the side of Kate's neck.
"Oh! Now, J.T., stop that," she laughed, hunching her shoulder against the sensual assault. "I'm too busy for this. I have a lot of cooking to do for tomorrow."
"Spoilsport."
She swiped her finger around the edge of the cake plate to pick up a blob of icing, but before she could wash it off under the faucet J.T. grabbed her hand.
She sent him a startled look over her shoulder. "What are you— Oh."
Holding her gaze, he took her finger into his mouth and slowly sucked off the chocolate icing. She gripped the edge of the counter so tight with her other hand that her knuckles whitened.
He felt her tremble, saw the way her mouth formed a soft O, heard the helpless little moan that whispered from her throat. The dazed look of arousal on her face sent fire streaking straight to his loins.
He wanted her. Damn, he wanted her. He'd been exercising extreme restraint with her, taking things nice and slow, letting her become accustomed to him, to his presence in her life, to his touch, to the possibility of him as her lover.