by Cait London
She cupped the stoneware in one palm and circled the rim with her fingertip, enjoying the cool, smooth surface. Life should be the same, without any unexpected chips.
Adam Tallchief was a big chip in the smooth life she wanted. He brought the past and anger with him, and storming out of her were emotions she didn’t want to unravel. She had to push him away, to forget him, to make him seem as inconsequential as—She turned at a noise, and found Adam sitting at her desk, sock-covered feet propped upon it, his hands locked behind his head.
The cup she’d been admiring tumbled from her shaking fingers and crashed upon the floor. “You!”
He rose slowly and came to kneel in front of her, picking up the pieces of the cup and dabbing away the drops of wine with a cloth. He stood, placed the pieces and the cloth in the sink and, while Jillian was considering her next move, asked softly, “What did O’Malley do to you?”
What hadn’t he done? she thought wildly, intimidated by the size of Adam standing too close. He lifted his hand slowly, carefully, and as she watched, her throat dry, he stroked her hair with the lightest touch. A touch that hurled her back twenty-two years to when she was a girl adoring him, her heart skipping with romantic expectations—
“You may not believe this, Jillian, but I am sorry about Tom’s death. I know how much you loved him. I’m sorry about your parents, too.”
Horrible scenes of her drunken parents arguing swirled around Jillian. “They lost everything. They were humiliated.”
“And you were the golden offering to O’Malley.”
“They wanted me to be taken care of.” Even as she defended her parents, a cold chill swept over Jillian, the reality of truth. “We’d lost everything by then, thanks to you. There were legal expenses and money paid to reimburse those who had been robbed—not that Tom did it, but my parents paid the bills just the same. I wanted to drop out of college because of the expenses. I wanted to work and help them, but they wouldn’t have it. All I have left is my grandmother’s pearls.”
You owe us. The harsh echo from the past dried her throat even now. Her parents had wanted to sell the pearls, too. Her grandmother was the only person who had really loved her, and Jillian had lied then, saying she’d lost them. Her parents wouldn’t let her drop out of college, because she needed that degree to catch an up-and-coming husband. “So now you know everything, the damage you’ve done. Are you happy?”
“Not quite. Do you ever wonder what would have happened between us if that fracas with Tom hadn’t erupted?” he asked softly and eased a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“No,” she lied, and turned away to look at the flickering candles.
That prowling fingertip circled her ear. His breath brushed her skin as he whispered, “Do you ever wonder how it would have been to—”
“No,” she lied again, and realized she’d spoken too urgently, too harshly. “Why are you here?”
He pulled a square folded paper from his jeans’ pocket and tossed it to the countertop. “Your check. I didn’t spend your money on those toys. I gave them to the children because I enjoy watching them play.”
She turned to him then, his face lit by the candles. She saw more than she wanted in his eyes, almost silver now, narrowed upon her. That fear danced in her again and she swallowed, leaning away from him. “If you had a family, you’d have to stay in one place and take a regular job with benefits. The cost would have been too great. And that’s why you never married. Right, Adam?”
“I made my choices. I saw you at the family gathering. You like cuddling babies and playing with the children too much to not have children of your own. No little ones for you and dear Kevin?” he returned too softly.
“It didn’t happen.” She shook her head and shivered, repulsed by the thought of Kevin’s touch. Then she looked down at her hand, locked to the countertop, and found Adam’s big warm one covering it. It felt too solid and safe. She slid her hand away.
“Why are you here?” she repeated, and realized that fear, memories, and something else danced along her nerves. She didn’t want to think of that tense, electrified feeling Adam could evoke in her.
“To let you know that there is no reason to jump when I’m near, or to pale as if I’d hurt you. I do not want my brother and relatives thinking I terrorize women. It isn’t good for the image,” he stated firmly.
She stared at him. “‘Good for the image’? What image? You’re a down-on-your-luck drifter, so far as I can see.”
He tilted his head, and despite the warning-smoke color of his eyes, said quietly, “I have my good points, you know.”
“I don’t want to hear what you think of yourself.”
“No, but you’re ready to tell me your thoughts, aren’t you? Well, let me tell you mine, about you. You edge away from the slightest accidental touch of a man. I saw proof of that tonight. You’d better keep that under control, or they’ll wonder and ask and try to help. You don’t want anyone helping you, do you, Jillian? You want to pass out advice to others, though.”
“I’ve heard enough. Get out.”
“I’m not done. If you avoid talking to me as you tried tonight, they’ll sense something runs between us. Unless you want that examined, try a little harder to be at ease with me, will you?”
“I don’t owe you anything, Adam.”
“Oh, yes, you do, you little witch. You’ve deliberately come back into my life and now that you’re here, you’re not ready to take the consequences.”
“Such as?” she invited, challenging him.
“This,” he said softly before he lowered his lips to hers.
Caught before the fear could tear at her, Jillian could only stand still, held by the merest light, warm brush of his lips. In it was beauty and tenderness and hope, long shriveled and forgotten. Sadness welled up inside her, and came trailing down as tears upon her cheeks.
When she was able to pull back into her shields, Adam had gone and she was in for a long, restless night.
That night, while he was certain that Jillian stewed about him in her home, Adam called his friend and most trusted business manager, Steve Morris. Adam intended to keep Jillian in Amen Flats until he could resolve how he felt about her. On one level, she stirred ugly memories of the past; on another level, he wanted to hold her either in safety or as a man needs a woman. And just maybe, he felt guilty about her hardships.
Nancy, the new toy flatbed hauler, would need advertising layouts. Jillian O’Malley was a perfect candidate. Steve would contact her with the offer that needed immediate attention; using the name “Sam” and electronic mail, Adam would work with her, just as he’d worked with other artists.
He shrugged as a splash of guilt hit him. Opportunistic? Yes, but then, as Elspeth said, the Tallchiefs had hunting blood. If he had to use a Sam contract as bait, then he would.
He thought about their past and pushed it away, separating it from the moment when her lips had lifted just that bit to his. The incredible sweetness of that moment had torn at him.
Or maybe it was desire. Adam shook his head. He was a meticulous, controlled man, and even as a youth, he’d only had one sexual relationship—a girl he’d hoped to marry. She’d wanted someone else, and even then, he was amazed at how little it touched him, while parting with Jillian had nearly torn him apart.
Adam toyed with the two feathers, the dove’s and the hawk’s. Lying together, they seemed feminine and masculine, yin and yang. Why had they meant so much to Sarah? What had she wanted him to know?
What were the answers to the questions she had avoided? Were the feathers part of that?
He stroked the soft, white dove feather and thought of Jillian. Why did the need to know her as a woman nag at him? Had time softened the almost-forgotten fury inside him?
Why had he wanted to hold her close and keep her safe?
Four
The next afternoon Jillian couldn’t wait to tell Elspeth her good news. She hurried into the bright sunlight and almost leaped int
o her SUV. Her exciting morning call had pushed away the sleepless night, haunted by Adam and his gentle touches, that last light kiss.
She’d overslept, then awakened in a tangle of sheets to the business offer. Sam the Truck manufacturers had contacted her to do advertising layouts, and from the moment of the offer, she couldn’t concentrate on the almost-finished layout for Silver. The owner and creator was a very private man and he would be contacting her by electronic mail to discuss his ideas. If the business arrangements were suitable, she would sign a contract that would bring in better money, and would take her to bigger clients.
Jillian’s hands clenched the steering wheel as she drove toward the Petrovna ranch, her mind a flurry of creative ideas and the sight of the Tallchief family all on the floor, playing with Sam the Trucks.
She’d have to finish the Silver ad first, and she’d have to—In a corner of a sprawling field, she noted Adam amid a small flock of milling sheep. The rough wooden corner post for the fence was gray with age and sturdy enough to last into the next century. With the Rocky Mountains behind him, Adam looked rugged enough to last longer.
Jillian carefully arranged her thoughts, just as she would in designing a layered collage—the most important image was on the top layer. Her personal “top” consisted of Adam and the problems between them. And that too soft kiss last night. It spoke of affection and concern, of gentleness and other odd notions she couldn’t imagine Adam might feel for her. It tugged her from the safety of her dislike for him and took her into a realm too vulnerable for her liking. On impulse, she pulled to the side of the dirt farm road and parked her SUV. It was time to set the rules straight between Adam and herself.
Adam watched her as she tramped across the muddy field toward him. The thick pea-green army coat he wore had seen better days and his battered boots were locked to the mud. He looked as though he’d come thousands of miles to stand in this muddy field, the woolly sheep milling around him. The March wind picked at his shaggy hair and the sun gleamed upon it, blue-black, a contrast to the snowcapped, rugged mountains behind him. He wore the mix of Native American and Scots blood with that of a hunter, features harsh and unrelenting, his eyes steady upon her. He hadn’t shaved, his jaw darkened with stubble that gave him a hard look, and the dark shadows beneath his steel-colored eyes said he hadn’t slept any better than she.
“It was the kiss,” he said quietly when she stood in front of him. “You’ve gnawed on it, and now you’ve come to tell me off again. I gave it as a gift, nothing more.” That cool gray gaze took in her yellow sweater and jeans, the cold mud clinging to her white canvas shoes. In her excitement, she’d forgotten her coat and shivered from the cold wind; she wrapped her arms around herself, determined to lay out the rules for him. He would know, of course, that she was cold, her feet damp, and that her need to see him was impulsive. He would know that she was trained to hide her emotions, that coming to see him now was a need too fierce for her to control.
Her self-control and Adam weren’t a stable mix.
She shook her head and her hand found the woolly pelt of a passing sheep, locking to it as an anchor. She braced herself to lie; she wouldn’t give Adam the satisfaction of knowing he had disturbed her more with his tenderness than his anger. “I didn’t have a second thought about that kiss. Not one.”
He nodded solemnly, watching her rummage for words. His hand found a place near hers on the ewe. “It’s good wool. Elspeth uses it in her work. The shearing ought to yield enough to keep her busy for a while.”
She realized that Adam had moved slightly, sheltering her from the wind. “I know. It’s beautiful to spin and to weave. The sheep are more of a tribute to her Scots ancestor, Una. In the summer they graze on Tallchief Mountain where heather has been planted to keep them company. When I work with Elspeth, spinning the wool, I can almost feel the peace of other women, doing the same, wrapping around me. The lanolin in the wool makes your fingers smooth, just as life should be. And to spin or weave a good solid product that will endure is wonderful. It’s a lovely thing to know you can create a gift for someone you love, to keep them warm and comfortable. It’s taken me a long time to find peace, Adam, and you’re not destroying it.”
“You’re artistic, Jillian. I saw your work, but more than that. At Elspeth’s you stroked the weave of her place mats, enjoying the texture and color. You nuzzled the children’s hair, taking in their scents. You like candlelight and rich shadows, and you see beauty in a plain white coffee cup. Why did you let your parents’ cold hearts force you into business?”
She didn’t answer, lifting her face to the sun and closing her eyes. I was the “good daughter.” I wanted to be loved. A girl who wants just a shred of love will do what she can to capture it. In another time, she’d tried so hard to please everyone and in the end, lost herself and her dreams. But they hadn’t loved her any more for it—it was always Tom, the brother who would carry on the Green name.
She was raised to do just what she did—to understand business and to be the perfect wife of a man with political opportunities. Eventually, she admitted her marriage was a failure and that business wasn’t the call of her heart. She’d gotten the degree and, after her marriage, had plodded to work every day, a stressed executive dressed in a suit, never fully leaving work at the office. Her life ran gray then, streaked with fear of the night and her marital bed. But she wouldn’t give Adam the satisfaction of knowing that and the emptiness failure could bring.
“I’ll be helping with the shearing and herding them out of the valley and up into the meadows on Tallchief Mountain. I’ll enjoy camping there with them for a while. I love watching the lambs. Here, you’re cold—”
With that, he took off his coat and slid it over her shoulders. “Put your arms in, Jillian. The better fit will keep the cold from seeping in.”
Jillian shook her head, remembering when Adam had placed his high school athletic jacket over her shoulders in the same way. She didn’t want the slightest comfort from him, a man who as a boy had torn her life apart. She would keep her composure. What he did, he could undo. The coat carried scents of sea salt and storms that could sweep her away. “Take it off.”
He crossed his arms, the faded red sweatshirt he wore frayed at the collar and cuffs. “Your feet are freezing, and yet you’re determined to hold your ground. Why?”
The coat smelled of man, wood smoke, animal and Adam. When she started to remove it, just as she wanted to remove him from her life, Adam picked her up. Her canvas shoes, sunken in the mud, stayed there. Before she could protest being carried by Adam, he placed her on top of the sturdy fence post. “Okay, spit it out. You have something to say, don’t you?”
Adam was very strong, strong enough to control her easily. Another man had, forcing her. Yet Adam held her as he would a child, firmly, gently, yet not too close, his hands light upon her. The fear that had immediately swamped and paralyzed her slithered slowly away. “I don’t like being handled.”
“I didn’t mishandle you. My hands were quite properly placed. Those are poor, pitiful shoes to be wearing when hunting a man, Jillian,” he mocked gently.
“I wasn’t hunting you. I just wanted to have a private conversation—” She stared at Adam, who had begun chafing her sock-covered feet. He tucked her feet beneath his arms and then folded them, tilting his head slightly as he listened. Jillian considered her predicament—and decided to deliver her message without losing as much dignity as possible. “Something has come up, a really good paying contract with good opportunities to draw attention to my work. I don’t have time to relocate my equipment or my home just yet. Before I can do good work, I have to feel settled in my environment. I’ve found that harmony is very important to me. It will take all my energy and focus to do a good job on this new contract. I’m not established well just yet, and this will mean bigger clients. You’re not going to ruin my chances, Adam.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” he murmured. “Not for a moment. But you could do wit
h a good pair of boots if you’re going to be coming after me.”
It was difficult to retain her composure while sitting on top of a fence post, her feet warming under Adam’s arms. She decided to venture a nothing-tried-nothing-gained. “Would you leave now, before the Tallchiefs sense that we don’t like each other? To be honest, it’s deeper, more fierce than that.”
“Aye, it is.” He nodded solemnly, his gray eyes considering her, shielded by those thick, black, glossy lashes. “It’s cozy here in Amen Flats, Jilly-dear, with all my relatives around. I’d be a fool to leave a warm house and good food. I can pick up odd jobs here and there, enough for change money. Maybe you’ve got something I can do.”
She stared at him and realized her mouth was open. “You’re just tormenting me. You know full well that you are moving on when it suits you. I just tried to give you a sizable check to get you out of here. Why would I want to hire you? And what could you do for me?”
She didn’t trust the searing heat in his eyes, quickly veiled by a mild smile and a shrug. “I’m a pretty good cook. I can do laundry and clean while you work. I can run errands for you. It’s only the last of March now and someone has to carry in wood for the stove. April can still be chilly.”
Adam Tallchief was asking her for a job. Jillian gripped the ancient wood of the fence post to keep from toppling from it. “Adam, that won’t work. Not with us, and you know it. And I’m used to caring for myself. If I’m busy, the laundry can wait, so can the dishes.”
Adam Tallchief, doing her laundry, making her bed, washing her dishes—in her house…. He’d take over the quiet life she’d build, her concentration destroyed. Her emotions concerning him were too fierce and unpredictable. She couldn’t have him anywhere near her!
He wasn’t deterred, watching her with those narrowed, steely eyes. Was he planning revenge?
“Maybe it’s time for a change,” he said quietly as the sheep moved around him. The wind snagged his hair, sailing it away from those rugged features. The impact of that hard, determined face took her breath away as he continued. “Maybe you’ll become so busy you’ll need help. I thought that since you’re set on me not embarrassing my relatives, you might see what my talents are and help me get a good start for a meaningful life. In your times when you’re not focusing and creating, of course, when you have to step away from work to refresh the well.”