The drive back to the Double-C was an exercise in torture. Every time the truck hit a bump, Jaimie swayed against Matthew’s rock-hard shoulder. Every time the truck slowed or turned, his strong thighs pressed against her.
By the time Jefferson dropped them off in front of the big house and drove home to his own place, Jaimie was a bundle of frayed nerves. More so, even, than when they’d driven Maggie to the hospital in the first place.
With hardly a glance in her direction, Matthew wasted no time in closeting himself in his office. Jaimie could tell that Daniel and Squire had made some attempt at feeding themselves dinner. Matthew would certainly be hungry, since they hadn’t taken the time to stop for a bite, so she fixed him a tray and carried it to his office.
He thanked her brusquely and she returned to the kitchen to clean up the mess, wondering edgily if she’d dreamed the last twenty-four hours with him.
Then she reminded herself that he had given them one night, And the morning after. No promises, she reminded herself firmly. So she’d better learn to pretend nothing had transpired between them, and quick, or she would be ready for a rubber room by the time Maggie came home with the baby.
When she finally turned in for the night, the little brick cottage seemed large and empty. Lonely.
Jaimie had never denied the fact that she was a social creature. She enjoyed the company of others. But in the past several years, since the fiasco with Tony, she’d learned also that her own company wasn’t too awful. She seldom felt lonely. Separate or apart from others ... the rest of the world.
Tonight, however, as she crawled in her narrow bed in the second bedroom of her brother’s house, she was more aware than ever before just how alone a person could feel.
Turning on her side, she tucked her arm under her head. She had pulled back the curtains at the window before climbing into bed, and now the moonlight bathed the shadows with cool white light. Half a mile away, Matthew would probably be turning in himself. She couldn’t help the futile wish that he would be thinking of her when his head hit the pillow.
She made an impatient noise and turned on her other side, punching the pillow into place. Nothing in her life had turned out the way she’d expected. There was no point in indulging in wishful dreams.
No matter what had happened between Matthew and Jaimie, no matter how wondrous and fulfilling, the fact remained that Jaimie wasn’t cut out for ranch life. And in her wildest dreams, Jaimie couldn’t imagine Matthew ever leaving the Double-C, so she’d better get her wayward emotions under control, and quick. He’d even warned her. No fairy-tale endings.
Matthew stood at the window in his bedroom and looked out over the moonlit fields of white, reaching desperately for the calm it usually provided. He had tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He’d had the dream again. Two nights in a row now. But something had changed. And it was that which had him even now sweating like it was the middle of August and not the dead of winter.
For when, in his dream, he’d fallen to his knees in the snow beside the still, bleeding woman, and she’d opened her eyes to look at him, they hadn’t been the gentle blue eyes of his mother.
They’d been green. As green as the moss that grew on the rocks down by the swimming hole in the springtime.
He braced his clammy hands on the sides of the windowsill and bowed his head. His mother had gone away. BethAnn had died, too.
God help him. He couldn’t bear to see the same fate befall Jaimie. She had to go before something tragic happened. It was that simple.
Shoving away from the window, he yanked on his jeans. As he did so, a few papers fluttered from his nightstand to the floor, and he bent and picked them up. One of them was the little red heart he’d found that one morning in the motel lobby. His fingers tightened around the heart, crumpling it into a ball.
She had to go.
A few days later Jaimie went back to the hospital with Emily and Jefferson. Emily had her own doctor’s appointment to attend, and it was logical for Jaimie to ride along with them. Matthew was particularly busy, with Joe still in town, and Jaimie knew he couldn’t really spare the time to drive her himself.
The sensible logic did little to quell her disappointment.
Maggie was with her doctor when Jaimie arrived, so she left the bag of clothing and toiletries she’d packed for Maggie at the nurses’ station, then wandered around the hospital, killing time. When she found herself standing outside the windows of the nursery, Matthew’s suggestions about finding a suitable job lingered in her mind.
She didn’t want to leave the Double-C. But Maggie would have her baby. And soon. She had to be realistic about that.
Knowing that, however, didn’t keep her feet from dragging when she went in search of the human resources department to check out the job postings, before going back up to visit with Maggie.
It was time to start supper when Jefferson and Emily finally dropped Jaimie off at the Double-C. They’d made only one stop after leaving the hospital and that was to pick up groceries and supplies.
After taking her own load over to the cottage, she carried the bags of produce she’d bought in town for the big house into the kitchen. Already her mind was busy planning the meal. Liver and onions, of all things.
She stopped short at the sight of Matthew and Donna Blanchard sitting cozily at the big table. Then she quelled her knee-jerk reaction with the reminder that Matthew had business dealings with Donna. So she greeted the two and went about her own business, putting away the fruit and vegetables she’d purchased. The two at the table continued their discussion and Jaimie couldn’t understand a word of their technical talk. But she kept the phrases in her mind so she could ask Squire later.
She was folding the reusable canvas bags she’d used when Donna scooted back her chair. Matthew helped her on with her heavy coat and then the other woman was gone. Leaving Jaimie alone with Matthew.
Thank goodness she had supper preparations to keep her hands busy. Otherwise they’d be doing something embarrassing. Like reaching out and smoothing back the heavy lock of gold hair that had fallen over his forehead. Or touching the muscle that ticked in his jaw.
Biting the inside of her lip, she washed her hands, then started rinsing the exorbitantly expensive head of lettuce she’d purchased.
“Maggie doin’ all right?”
Jaimie looked over her shoulder, then hastily turned her attention back to the lettuce. She really did wish that she had his apparent ability to turn his emotions on and off. “Yes.”
She heard the scrape of a chair and knew he’d sat down again. Her nerves tightened even more.
“She’s probably going stir crazy.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She turned off the water and set the lettuce aside while she peeled several cucumbers. “Emily’s appointment went well. She said everything’s going right on schedule.”
“Good thing. Jefferson would be a basket case if it weren’t.”
Jaimie deftly sliced the cukes and started on the tomatoes.
“You like cooking, don’t you?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. He was watching her, his eyes inscrutable as usual. “Yes.” She turned back to the salad she was building. “I’ve worked in several restaurants.” Her shoulder lifted. “I’m no chef. But you pick up a few things.”
“You know how to cook, clean, sew, deal cards, drive cabs and soothe scared little kids. What else?”
She rinsed her knife and tossed the salad with her bare hands, then dried them on a paper towel. She turned to face him, crossing her arms across her tomato red turtleneck sweater. Her expression was still. “You sure are interested in my job history lately. Are you wanting to check my references now? It’s a little late, don’t you think?”
“Just trying to carry on a conversation,” he said mildly. “Got a problem with that?”
Her head tilted and her bangs slid over her forehead. “Well, let’s see,” she said. “Bookkeeping, word processing and data entry, child care,” she nodded a
t him, “housekeeper, cab driver, waitressing, cocktail waitressing, teaching at a children’s activity center, teacher’s aid at a private school in Nevada, retail sales in a couple different places...shall I go on?”
“Why so many?”
Her lips twisted. “Maybe I don’t have any staying power.” Matthew fell silent for a moment. Her eyes, steady on his, didn’t sparkle as they usually did. “Who was he?”
“Who?”
“The man who convinced you that you don’t have any staying power.”
“Who says it was a man? Who says it was anybody at all?”
“Who was he?”
She shrugged and carried the salad to the refrigerator. Bending over, her voice was muffled as she reached inside. “Well, you can take your pick. My father, for starters. Not that he was around all the time, mind you. But when he was, he found fault with everything I did. My grades weren’t good enough. My jobs weren’t good enough. My friends weren’t good enough. Then there’s my brother. He never understood why I quit so many different jobs, or about Tony. My fiancé.” She straightened and carried several lemons to the sink.
Matthew’s attention abruptly went on alert. Fiancé? “What happened?”
Her head tilted back and she sighed. “Is this more conversation making?”
“Call it what you want. You don’t have a fiancé waiting for you in Phoenix, do you?” The very idea made him coldly furious, but when Jaimie laughed abruptly, the wind went right out of his sails.
“Lord, no. That was over years ago.” With one whack, she sliced a lemon in two. “Tony didn’t love me. He loved the person he thought he could make me.” Another lemon fell prey to her knife. “When I realized that I wasn’t capable of becoming the dutiful, prim and proper corporate wife that he had in mind, I broke it off.” She waved her knife. “Oh, he was brokenhearted, of course. He proved that when he turned around and married my roommate two weeks later.” Whack. “Turns out that he and Wanda had been doing the bump and grind behind my back for months.”
“But you and he didn’t—”
“No. He blamed that on me, too. You know. If I hadn’t insisted on waiting, then he wouldn’t have turned to Wanda.” She lifted one shoulder. “Naturally, Joe said I was a fool for passing up the opportunity of marrying Tony. He made it real clear that it was just another example of my...ah...flightiness.”
Matthew stood up and grabbed her hand as she went for the last lemon. In his opinion, Joe had no room for criticism. “Your brother was wrong. Tony was the fool.”
She went still. “That’s what Maggie said, too.” Her eyes were on the hand he’d wrapped around her wrist. “I was kidding myself, though, in thinking that I loved him. Thinking that I could turn myself into something that I’m not. Trying to fit in where I don’t belong.” She swallowed and pulled out of his loose hold. “I know better now.” Whack.
Matthew’s gut tightened. God. Even carrying on a simple conversation with her was dangerous ground. He was a bloody idiot for thinking that they could go back to status quo. They could never go back. Not after what they’d shared in Gillette.
Still, he couldn’t help thinking that this Tony jerk had done him a favor. For if he’d married Jaimie, Matthew had no doubt that she wouldn’t be standing here right now, brightening his kitchen with her fiery auburn hair and sassy tongue. And she never would have been in his bed less than a week ago. A place that he knew she fit to perfection.
“Excuse me.”
He stepped out of the way so she could reach the cabinet behind him. Searching for something safe, he focused on the two glass pie pans she’d pulled out and set on the counter. “What are you making?”
“Lemon meringue pie. Squire told me once that it was his favorite.”
Matthew threaded his thumbs through his belt loops when he realized that he wanted to pull her into his arms. “Mine, too,” he said abruptly. Then he escaped for the sanctuary of his office.
Jaimie’s hands went still and she watched him stomp out of the kitchen. “I know,” she said softly when she heard that familiar slam of the door.
Chapter Thirteen
On Saturday afternoon, Matthew found a discrepancy in yet another bill. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d been gathering things up for Emily to do her yearly audit and the taxes, he would probably have never noticed the first discrepancy all those weeks ago at all.
Keeping his temper in check, he called Wayland’s, the supplier in question where he was assured that, yes, there must be some error, and they would look into it. The Double-C was one of their best customers, and Matt knew they didn’t want to lose his business. But unless they got their billing problems worked out, that was exactly what would happen.
He knew Emily hadn’t really had an opportunity yet to look at the file he’d already given her. Not with everything that she and Jefferson had on their plate. So he made some notes on the invoice and added it to the pile he was preparing for her.
Then. temper still simmering beneath the surface, he decided he needed to get outside. He needed to plow the road again. Now seemed as good a time as any. So he shrugged into his coat and gloves. Squire was in the kitchen on the telephone, and Matthew stopped long enough to tell him where he was going.
The chore would have been a lot easier if Joe or Daniel had been around to help. But Daniel was over at Jefferson’s again, and Joe was still in Gillette with Maggie. Something which Matthew had been relieved to hear, despite the fact that it made a heck of a lot more work for him and his brother.
He was even thinking of hiring on a few hands early this year. The calves were starting to drop, and with Joe gone...well, he wasn’t getting any extra sleep, that was for sure.
His breath puffed in rings around his head as he drove the tractor with its angled snowplow out of the machine shed. A flash of purple caught his eye, and hunched in the seat, he watched from beneath the brim of his hat as Jaimie scurried around the edge of the big house and down the gravel road, a load of firewood in her arms. As usual, Sandy trotted faithfully behind her.
He should have thought about firewood, he realized with disgust. The cottage was adequately heated, but a fire was almost always necessary at night. She shouldn’t have to carry her own wood. From this distance, she would never hear him, though. He cut the engine and hopped to the ground. His long legs caught up with her soon enough, and she whirled around when he said her name. “Let me take those.”
Her nose and cheeks were pink with cold, her eyes bright jewels against her ivory skin. “I can get it.”
“I know you can,” he said impatiently. “But you don’t need to. Let me do it.”
She looked ready to argue, then abruptly dumped the wood into his outstretched arms. Her boots crunched against the gravel as she continued toward the cottage. She held the door open for him and he went inside, dumping the load in the wrought iron holder. She didn’t say a word, just headed into the small kitchen where he could see her working. Sandy curled up in the corner of the living room like she’d been there a hundred times before.
She probably had.
He brought in four more loads before he called it good. The holder was filled and he’d stacked the rest in a neat pile next to it. “That oughta hold you for a while,” he said, pulling off his leather work gloves.
She didn’t answer, and Matthew glanced in the kitchen. She’d left a teapot on the stove, and it was steaming merrily along. He turned off the burner and went back into the living room. “Jaimie?”
His heart climbed up into his throat when he noticed her long legs, sprawled on the floor in the doorway of the bathroom. His boots turned to cement bricks. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He closed his eyes, wondering if he was having the nightmare again.
Nausea clawed up his throat.
No, screamed silently through his mind.
Then he heard her groan softly. His brain sluggishly clicked into gear, and he dropped his gloves on the couch. Shaking like some green kid, he carefully stepped ove
r her legs and knelt down beside her in the small confines of the bathroom. “Jaimie, come on sweetheart. Don’t do this to me.”
She made a soft moan and opened her eyes. “I don’t feel too great,” she said after a moment. “Maybe you should keep your distance.”
His heartbeat kick-astarted and relief rushed through him with dizzying speed. Then he felt like throttling her for being the cause of it at all. But she suddenly moved and lost her lunch over the commode. He shrugged out of his coat and held back her hair.
“Go away,” she muttered when she finally fell back.
He rinsed a washcloth and handed it to her. Her face was burning hot. And he realized that the reason her eyes had seemed so vividly bright outside was because she was raging with fever. Okay, fever he could handle. Couldn’t he?
“Do you have any aspirin?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just leaned over her prone body to look inside the medicine chest above the sink. “Think you can keep it down?”
She shook her head, then winced at the movement. She rested her head on her folded arms. Her legs drew up. “Maybe I picked something up at the hospital,” she mumbled. “It’s probably just a bug. Go back to the house. I’ll be fine.”
“I can tell,” Matthew muttered. “You need to be in bed.”
“I’ll go in a minute.” Her voice was muffled. “You don’t want to catch this.”
“Sweetheart, it’s a little late for that.”
“Then go and just let me die here in peace.”
“Nobody’s doing any dying,” he said sharply. “Come on, Red. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Promises, promises,” she whispered, her lips moving crookedly into a pale version of her usual grin.
Matthew hesitated. He smoothed his hand along her silky hair then pushed to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Mmm.”
He went into the second bedroom and pulled back the covers. Then he went back to the bathroom, shooing the dog out of the way. Owing more to strength than technique in the small room, he managed to pick up Jaimie. It wasn’t that she weighed much. But her legs were long. And he was big. And the bathroom seemed smaller than he remembered when he and Dan had built the place nearly ten years ago.
The Rancher And The Redhead Page 20