“I know … it's just. …”
Roxanne leaned forward and put one of her hands over Shelly's where they rested on the table. “Honey, I think you're beating yourself up for no reason—and running down the road to meet trouble. Have the tests. And I'll bet they're going to come back that everything is fine. I'll bet the doctor will tell you the same thing that Sloan and I have—you're too impatient.”
Shelly made a face. “Probably. But I'm still scared and anxious.”
“Anyone would be—it's only natural. Hell, I sweat my Pap test every year, even though I know the odds are that everything is normal. Everybody does—it's called being human.”
“You're right. I'm just being a worrywart.” She smiled at Roxanne, her hand turning to clutch Roxanne's. “Thanks. I think I probably just needed someone else to tell me that I'm being silly.”
The conversation with Shelly troubled Roxanne, niggling at the back of her mind. Acting her usual charming self, Roxanne got through the night and the following morning, even eating a spoonful of black-eyed peas Roman lovingly prepared for brunch, but despite her best efforts, there was a constraint, a preoccupation about her.
No one else noticed it, but Jeb. But then there wasn't much about Roxanne that he didn't notice. He knew something was bothering her, but he didn't have a clue. One thing he knew—it wasn't any worry about getting gas for her Jeep.
Like many ranchers, Sloan had his own gas tank on the place. An outfit from Ukiah came by regularly and kept it filled. Getting gas for Roxanne's Jeep had been simply a matter of walking out to where the cylindrical, silver-painted, thousand-gallon tank sat on its stand and filling a five-gallon gas can. Jeb and Roxanne had been among the last to leave and her vivacious manner vanished the moment they'd driven away from Sloan and Shelly's. It was a quiet drive to her Jeep; the only sounds inside the cab were the purr of the engine and the crunch of the truck's tires on the snowy, frozen ground.
Even while he filled the Jeep and helped transfer her things, Roxanne didn't say much. She seemed in her own world, hardly even aware of him.
She thanked him politely for his help and climbed into her Jeep. The engine turned right over and she smiled at him through the window. He motioned for her to roll it down, which she did.
A faint frown on his face, he asked, “You OK? You've been awfully quiet.” “Just tired, I guess—we all were up late last night and it seemed like it was the crack of dawn when you guys came tramping into the house this morning.”
He nodded, not believing a word. He tapped a gloved finger on the roof of the Jeep. “I'll follow you home.”
Roxanne lost her preoccupied air. “Look,” she said firmly, “that isn't necessary. I appreciate all your help, but I'm fine now. The Jeep is fine. I promise I'll get gas before I drive out to the house.”
He shook his head. “Can't, Princess. New Year's Day. Like I told you, this isn't New York. The only gas station in St. Galen's is closed.” He flashed her a smile that made Roxanne's teeth ache. “But don't worry—you have enough gas to get home and back into town tomorrow. Besides, like I said, I'm following you home.”
She began to get angry. “Why?”
His smile widened, his teeth very white beneath the black of his mustache. “You and I, Princess, have things to talk about.” He looked around at the snowy landscape, then back at her scowling face. “New Year and everything, I thought today would be as good a time as any other for us to have that little talk I mentioned last night.”
“Suppose I don't want to talk to you?”
“Well, since I intend to stick to you like glue to paper until you do, you'll just have to get used to mehanging or sticking around until you do decide to talk to me.”
“Have I ever told you that I despise you?” she said through gritted teeth.
He grinned and ran a finger down her nose. “Frequently.”
Growling under her breath, Roxanne rolled up the window and stepped on the gas. She would have liked to speed away from him, but the icy road put paid to that idea—that and the hairpin curves. The snow had only fallen in the higher elevations, not reaching the valley floor, but even leaving the snow and curves behind, it did Roxanne little good; Jeb stayed right on her tail as she hit the pavement and increased her speed. She glared at him in her rearview mirror half a dozen times as they sped across the flat paved roads of the valley, racing toward her place.
Roxanne barely slowed when they left the pavement and began the climb on the gravel road that led to her house. About the two-thousand-foot level, they hit snow again; the tire tracks made earlier by Nick's truck the only disturbance in the smooth icing of snow on the road. At the turnoff for her place, she punched the Jeep and like an angry cat the vehicle snarled up the curving incline, coming to a screeching halt as she whipped it around and into the parking area in the front of her house. Intent on reaching the house before Jeb, she took no time to admire the pristine snowfall. It was a breathtaking sight; the ground blanketed in white, the tree limbs hanging low, iced in snow, and the house with its peak roofs and mullioned windows looked like a frosted gingerbread cottage.
Ignoring Jeb, who pulled in right beside her, she jumped out of the Jeep, grabbed her things, and stalked to the front door. He was right behind her, admiring the angry movement of her hips in the tight blue jeans. No doubt about it—she had quite a swing in that fine backyard of hers.
He was so fascinated by her movements that he didn't realize that Roxanne had stopped dead in front of him, until he plowed into her. His big body slammed into hers and he clasped her shoulders to keep from knocking her down.
“Uh, sorry,” he muttered, “wasn't watching where I was going.”
Roxanne remained frozen in front of him, her shoulders rigid beneath his hands.
He frowned. “What's the matter?”
“The front door's open … I locked it before I left,” she said uneasily. She glared at him over her shoulder. “And before you ask, yes, I'm sure that I locked it.”
“OK,” he said softly, moving around to stand in front of her. “You wait here, I'll check it out.”
She gasped when he reached around behind him and from beneath the black leather jacket pulled out a pistol.
He glanced back at her. “What?”
Eyes worried, she asked, “Do you always carry a gun?” “Pretty much.” He grinned at her. “I'm a cop, remember?”
She rolled her eyes. “I remember.”
He started down the path and Roxanne was right on his heels. He looked back at her and muttered, “I thought I told you to wait.”
She smiled. “Well, you know how I feel about being ordered around. Besides, it's my house. I have every right to go inside it.” “Yeah, well, Princess, stop and think about this: there could be a guy inside with a gun or knife, just waiting for you to come home. If you want to barge right in there, be my guest.”
Roxanne paled, her beautiful eyes huge in her face. She swallowed. “I wasn't going to 'barge' inside. I was just going to follow you.” “Don't. I don't want to be worrying about you. Just stay here—better yet, go back and get in the car with the engine on—if I run into trouble, you get that sweet little butt of yours into town and get me some backup. OK?”
She stood her ground. “Do you really think there's any danger? Isn't it more likely that whoever was here has already left?”
He stepped aside. “Like I said, you want to go first?”
She bit her lip, eyeing him and then the shadowy porch and the half-ajar front door. “No,” she said sullenly. “But I think you're making too big a deal of this.”
“I agree, but until I check it out, we don't know that, do we?”
She made a face. “Point taken. I won't follow you inside, but I'm not going back to the car.”
“Fine. Just make damn sure you do remain right here.”
Roxanne watched him as he carefully approached the front porch. She was suddenly grateful that he'd been such a jerk and insisted upon following her home.
If she'd been here by herself, she'd have taken one look at the half-opened door and wheeled on her heels and headed straight back to her Jeep and town. Stupid she was not and there was no way that she'd have entered that house by herself.
She glanced around, noting that they had made the only footprints in the snow, except for a few animal tracks, birds and squirrels. Which meant that whoever had been inside her house had left before much snow had accumulated on the ground. But even telling herself that the house was empty didn't still the knot of anxiety that tightened in her breast when Jeb disappeared inside.
She waited for what seemed an eternity, even taking a few tentative steps toward the house as the minutes passed and Jeb did not reappear. She didn't like standing out here, but she wasn't foolish enough to go traipsing inside after him like some silly female in a melodrama. Besides, dammit, she'd given her word. Her chin set. And she wasn't running back to the Jeep either, though she did send a longing glance or two in that direction.
In spite of the weak sunshine, it was cold outside and Roxanne stamped her feet now and then to keep them warm. She kept her eyes on the doorway where Jeb had disappeared, all sorts of grim and grisly pictures floating through her mind. The only good thing that she could think of was that at least there'd been no gunfire. But then that made her recall several movies wherein bloody murder had been done silently with a knife. …
When the door was suddenly shoved open, she let out a half-muffled shriek and went weak with relief as Jeb's familiar form filled the doorway. He grinned at her. “Come on, it's OK. No one here but us chickens.”
She scurried up the path and brushed past him. Dumping her suitcase on the floor of the foyer, she asked, “How bad is it?”
He shrugged. “They didn't trash the place if that's what you're worried about. And if they stole anything, I can't at first glance spot it. You'll have to check it out yourself.”
She frowned. “They?”
He pointed to the floor. “Two sets of muddy footprints—which means they came in while it was still raining, before the snow. And since there didn't appear to be any sign of them outside, they had to leave while it was still raining, or at least before too much snow had fallen. The tracks inside the house are pretty easy to follow—especially since it seems the only room they entered was the living room. If they went anywhere else, they either removed their boots or the mud dried, because the only place I find any sign of tracks is in that one room.”
Frowning, Roxanne followed the footprints that Jeb pointed out. Both sets were large, obviously male, and as he said, they only seemed to have been in the great room, the dried mud on the wood floor and carpet signs of their passing.
She looked around. Beyond a crooked picture on the wall, nothing seemed out of the ordinary; on the surface the house appeared as it had when she had left less than twenty-four hours ago. A quick search of the rest of the house confirmed Jeb's assumption that the only room the intruders had entered was the great room. Standing in the middle of that room several minutes later, feeling vulnerable and uneasy, Roxanne wrapped her arms around her waist. “This is creepy,” she said. “I just don't understand it. There hasn't been any more trouble or break-ins for months. Why now?”
“Well, first of all, they didn't 'break in'—or at least, there's no sign of it. Looks as if they had a key to the front door … or you made a mistake and left it unlocked.”
“I did not,” she said sharply, “make a mistake. I know this is Oak Valley and all that and that some people still leave their houses unlocked, but not me. I lived in New York too long. I know the door was locked when I left.”
“Anyone else have a key? Your folks?”
“No. Besides, they wouldn't just come inside my house without my permission.”
Jeb looked skeptical. “Maybe you've forgotten someone. Construction hasn't been completed that long ago. Maybe a tile guy or painter had a key.”
Roxanne shook her head. “No. The front door was one of the last items installed. And once it was installed, I made certain that I had all the keys. I didn't loan them to anyone either.” Earnestly, she added, “Believe me, no one came inside the house when I wasn't here. A couple guys even got a little irked when they had to wait for me to get here to let them in.”
Jeb studied her face for a moment. He walked back to the front door and stared at it, the smooth brass surface of the lock plate showing no signs of tampering and the door itself sporting not so much as a scratch.
Walking back to stand in front of her, he sighed.
“Well, since there seems to be no simple answer, you've got to ask yourself, who else has a key to your house and how did they get it?”
Chapter
12
Roxanne ran nervous fingers through her mane of black hair. “Oh, that's just great. Not only do I have trespassers and housebreakers, but somehow they've managed to get a key to my house.”
“That's simple enough to fix,” Jeb said. “First thing tomorrow morning you call a locksmith and have the locks changed. That'll eliminate one problem.”
Roxanne's face brightened for a moment, then fell. “Yeah, but it won't tell us who they were or what they were after,” she said gloomily. “Besides which, it'll probably take him a week to get here and get the work done.”
Jeb smiled. “Haven't you learned yet that you can't have everything just when you want it, Princess?”
“I'm beginning to but I can't say that I like the process.” She slid a look in his direction. “Well, thank you for seeing me home. I appreciate it—particularly in view of the housebreaking.”
“Ah, I'm supposed to go my way now like a good boy, is that it? Well sorry, but it's no go. We have things to discuss, remember?”
Roxanne sighed. She wasn't in the mood to fight, she wanted to unpack, take a shower, and sit down with a cup of hot chocolate and enjoy the view out of her windows … and consider the implications of the housebreaking incident. What she definitely did not want to do was embark on an emotional, and probably embarrassing, discussion with Jeb. She eyed him, the thrust of his chin, and the way his thumbs were shoved into the front pockets of his black jeans, making it clear that Jeb wasn't about to leave until he got what he was after.
Giving in, she said, “OK, but I'm going to unpack and shower and change clothes first. Why don't you go home, do the same, and come back in forty-five minutes or so? I'm sure you have things to do at your place, like checking on Dawg and Boss?” She smiled sweetly. “I'm sure that they missed you.”
He studied her face, his expression suspicious.
“You won't hightail it out of here the minute I drive away?” She shook her head. His eyes narrowed. “You're not going to try to lock me out, are you?”
She laughed. “No. I promise to be here.”
He thought about it a moment. “OK if I bring Boss and Dawg with me when I come back?”
“Sure. I might even ask to borrow them for a few nights until the lock gets changed.”
Something moved in the back of his eyes. “Oh, that won't be necessary,” he drawled, strolling up to her and cupping her chin. “I intend to see that you have your very own private security system on the premises until the lock gets changed.”
“Uh, that's not necessary,” she replied uneasily, having a good idea what he meant. “The dogs will do me just fine.”
He stepped nearer, his gaze locked on her mouth as he reached out and his thumb moved softly over her full lower lip. He seemed hypnotized by the movement of his thumb, his lips taking on a sensual curve that did nothing for Roxanne's peace of mind. As the seconds passed her breathing became difficult, the heat of Jeb's body flowing warmly against hers and the touch of his thumb on her lip was driving her nuts, arousing sensations she could do well without.
She took a step away from him, relieved when he let his hand drop. “I think you'd better go,” she said huskily.
Jeb jerked, as if he had suddenly come awake. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I think I'd better.”
>
He strode away from her, but stopped at the door and looked back. “Don't,” he said quietly, “try any tricks. We're going to have that discussion. I'd just as soon have it privately, but if you force the issue …”
The threat was unspoken but Roxanne had no doubt that if she was foolish enough to try to run, that Jeb would track her down and that it wouldn't matter where he found her—he'd have his damned discussion. Her fingers closed into a fist, but she said, “I'll be here.”
“Good.”
Even though he infuriated and annoyed her, Jeb's departure made the house suddenly seem awfully big and empty. Angry with herself for feeling that way, Roxanne gave herself a shake and stalked over to the wood stove. Poking around in the ashes, she was pleased to find a few coals still burning. The house was chilly and she set about stoking up the fire. Several minutes later, watching the leaping flames behind the glass door of the wood stove, she decided that the fire was doing nicely and she could leave it. She picked up her suitcase and walked to her bedroom.
The bedroom door had a lock on it and she didn't hesitate to use it. Her suitcase unpacked, she got into the shower trying not to think of a certain Neanderthal with an overdeveloped sense of his own appeal. Where did he get off demanding that they have a “discussio?” about a subject she had pushed to the back of her head? Oh, hell, she thought glumly as she washed her hair, maybe once they discussed it, hashed it to death, they'd be able to go on the way they had for years. Except she knew in her heart that her feelings for Jeb Delaney had changed. She might call him names. She might act furious with him, but a part of her knew that it was exactly that: an act.
She wasn't a novice when it came to the games that the sexes played with each other, but she had to admit that she had entered new territory, unknown territory when it came to Jeb. And it terrified her.
Over the years, she'd had a couple of long-term relationships. There'd been a guy when she'd been in her early twenties that she'd lived with for three or four years before the romance had ended. Their breakup hadn't been explosive, they'd just discovered that the spark that had brought them together had died and they drifted apart. A few years after that, there'd been another man who had shared her life, the actor, Shane Michaels. They actually got around to discussing marriage, but his trips back and forth to Hollywood and her trips to location shoots, as well as his, had put a strain on their relationship. They'd been together for five years and Shane was pushing for marriage and children. But marriage she thought of as the final commitment, and it wasn't something that she'd been ready for so she'd held back, coming up with excuses and postponements, and eventually the relationship ended … badly. There had been a few other lovers along the way, but after the breakup with Shane, she'd taken a vow, no more live-ins. Her mouth twisted. Yeah, but what about what's his name, ole married tight-buns? Did three weeks count?
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